Hand clasped in hand-eye bent on eye,

Our bosoms meeting like two billows, And through our lips sigh chasing sigh, As zephyrs through the wavy willows, We stood where I am standing nowAnd I am here!-but where art thou?

Entranced, we stood as none have stood
Since Sappho Phaon's bosom fired;
Entranced, we wooed as none have wooed
Since Egypt's love-sick queen expired;
Entranced, our spirits face to face

Spoke through the windows of the soul

Of all love, beauty, bliss embrace,

And wrote white vows on Heaven's white scroll

Beneath this willow's weeping bough—

And it is here!—but where art thou?

And still my heart is full of youth,

Its playgrounds ring with mirth of blisses;

And still my soul is full of truth,

And flings the world its roseate kisses;

And still my step is lithe and light,

And fleeter than the young gazelle's ; And still my eye with hope is brightThe tide of Hippocrene upswells

Around my spirit's pale feet now-

And I am here!--but where art thou?

These vales are here-these mountains stand

As they were standing on that eve;

The nightingale—the zephyrs bland,

Soft through the cypress branches grieve; The stars are sitting out in Heaven Around the dappled milky way, As they were seated on that even,

Watching the slumbering god of Day— And earth smiles bright and blooming now As on that night-but where art thou?

Like snowy doves thy vows descend

With noiseless wings the vales of Weir; Thy breathing thoughts around me bend, Thy burning words entrance my ear;

And at the fount of memory

That gushes down this hallowed shore,

I drink until its source is dry,

And still look up its lips for more, Beneath this willow's weeping bough, While echo answers-"Where art thou?'

Oh, River! that dost roll along,

Singing like youthful maiden ever! Oh, Lilies that these valleys throng, Ringing your snowy bells for ever!

Oh, Cypresses! majestic, grand,

Whose tears descend in silent showers 1

Oh! tell me where in spirit-land,
Beneath what beatific bowers,

Adhémar, pensive, wanders now,
While I lament beneath this bough?

I'll question thus no more, my love,
But lift my ken beyond the skies,
Where Angels in the realms above

Stand rapt before thy rapturous eyes;
And plead with Heaven to ope the gates
Of Paradise, until I see

Thine image through the golden grates

And grades of immortality ;-
For, well I know round Eden's brow

Thy spirit-feet are winding now!

LYRICS.

LINES ON SOME VIOLETS.

[LEFT UPON MY DESK WHILE I WAS AT A FUNERAL]

He brought these violets yester-eve,
While I was with the dead,

And when I hither came to grieve,
To me they meekly said:

"Let not thy gentle heart-founts flow

For her who is at rest,

But joy and sing for all who go

To sit among the blest.

"Weep for thyself, and not for her,

Child of melodious grief!

And pray thy Angels, hovering near,

To make life's journey brief.