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150

SONGS FOR THE GRAVE AND GAY.

ROMANCE FOR ME.

I

Romance for me, Romance for me,
Not matter of fact and history,
And prosing volumes all about—
“Once on a time it so fell out.”
Romance for me, Romance for me,
And a nice little bit of a mystery!

II

I hate the noon—give me the moon,
And dewy nights in May or June:
Dull Prudence sighs, and trims her lamp,
And talks about cold, night-air, and damp!
Romance for me, Romance for me,
And a nice little bit of a mystery!

III

Give me the loves of turtle doves,
Who bill and coo in shadowy groves;
Give me Romance, and I'll dispense
With the rodomontade of common sense.
Romance for me, Romance for me,
And a nice little bit of a mystery!
151

THERE IS NOT ONE FAMILIAR FACE.

There is not one familiar face
Where many loved me once!
I speak aloud—the lonely place
Returns no kind response!
Where I and others roved, I see
Another roving race;
Gay smiles are there—but ah! for me,
Not one familiar face!
Where are they now, the young, the gay?
No longer gay and young;
O'er some, too early snatched away,
The cold earth has been flung.
The rapid stream—the shelter'd seat—
Each spot unchanged I trace,
But mournful is the scene—I meet
Not one familiar face!

HE PASS'D!

He pass'd, as if he knew me not,
Unconscious I was near!
And can he then so soon forget
A being once so dear!
No—through composure ill assumed—
I marked the blush of shame;
I saw him tremble when he heard
Another breathe my name.
152

I ask not now a lover's smile—
These eyes are sunk and dim;
But in their ruin, they possess
An eloquence for him;
Though others pass me—from his heart
More sympathy I claim;
When I am gone—perchance he'll weep
Whene'er he hears my name.

I KNOW A SPOT.

I

I know a spot, where we scarce mark the flowers
That Spring scatters round her to tell us she's come;
I know a spot, where the evergreen bowers
Are bright in all seasons—that dear spot is home.

II

I know a spot, where in Winter's rough weather
We laugh while the elements bluster and foam;
I know a spot, where when met thus together
We've smiles for all seasons—that dear spot is home.

OH TEACH MY HEART.

I

Oh! teach my heart that chilling lore
That the world hath taught to Thee.
While I am on the sunny shore,
What are ocean storms to Me?
Oh! some that with me used to sail,
Now wreck'd 'neath the waters lie;
But we have felt no adverse gale,
We will coldly pass them by.
153

II

Yet oh! begone—I'll not be taught
Such a heartless lore as this;
In memory's tomb the charm is sought,
And I scorn such a selfish bliss.
I will not own 'tis weak to weep
When the friends who loved us die,
No—I'll seek the scene of their chill sleep,
And not coldly pass them by.

OH NOT FOR ME!

I

A little breeze waves the willow
That droops across the stream,
And ev'ry infant billow
Sports with a bright sunbeam;
Go forth—go forth—there's joy for thee,
But not for me! oh not for me!

II

I shun the sunny meadow,
I seek the church-yard's gloom,
Beneath the yew tree's shadow,
I weep o'er Laura's tomb.
Go forth—go forth—there's joy for thee,
But not for me! oh not for me!

TEN YEARS AGO!

I

Ten years ago in this place we met,
And we meet as gaily now!
For Time has but little changed as yet,
Youth's joyous lip and brow.
154

Above us, the tree a canopy weaves,
'Tis a fanciful thought I know—
But I almost could think they're the same green leaves
That were here ten years ago!

II

Ten years ago! yet each word and look
Are fresh as if just gone by!
They were traced in memory's treasure book,
And the ink seems scarcely dry!
The mariner's barque has encountered storms,
From his lip no complaint shall flow,
If the barque be mann'd by the same gay forms
That were there ten years ago!

UPBRAID ME NOT.

I

Upbraid me not, I little heed
The bitter words you speak:
The worst reproach that you can use
Is on that faded cheek.
And though a threat would fail to rouse
My feelings or my fears,
This heart is touch'd by your despair,
And trembles at your tears.

II

How well do I remember you
In all your spring of youth,
Believing each fair word and smile
Arose from simple truth.
Upbraid me not—the false one scorns
The threaten'd doom he hears;—
This heart is touched by your despair,
And trembles at your tears.
155

SAY WHERE IS VIRTUE'S DWELLING?

Say where is virtue's dwelling?
Where nuns their beads are telling;
On the earth kneeling,
Cold and unfeeling,
Not where the devotee drearily,
Paces the nunnery, wearily,
At the world railing,
Weeping and wailing;
That is not Virtue's throne.
Where then is Virtue's dwelling?
Where the young heart, excelling,
Little professes,
Meekly possesses
Innocent thoughts alone;
Sharing life's sunshine readily,
Stemming life's tempests steadily;
That may be Virtue's throne.

I CAN NEVER LOVE YOU MORE.

I ne'er will love you less,
But I cannot love you more,
Nor can I now profess
To have warmer vows in store:
Words may not quite express
How sincerely I adore—
I can never love you less,
I can never love you more!
My love is now full grown,
The infant at its birth
Could never know, I own
One quarter of your worth:
But having learnt to bless
Your virtues o'er and o'er,
I can never love you less,
I can never love you more!
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