Он! when wilt thou return
To thy spirit's early loves?
To the freshness of the morn,
To the stillness of the groves?
The summer-birds are calling,
Thy household porch around,
And the merry waters falling,
With sweet laughter in their sound.
And a thousand bright-veined flowers, 'Midst the banks of moss and fern,
Breathe of the sunny hours
But when wilt thou return?
Oh! thou hast wandered long
From thy home without a guide,
And thy native woodland song
In thine altered heart hath died.
Thou hast flung the wealth away,
And the glory of thy spring,
And to thee the leaves' light play
Is a long-forgotten thing.—
But when wilt thou return?
Sweet dews may freshen soon
The flower, within whose urn
Too fiercely gazed the noon.
O'er the image of the sky,
Which the lake's clear bosom wore, Darkly may shadows lie
But not for evermore.
Give back thy heart again
To the gladness of the woods,
To the birds' triumphant strain,
To the mountain solitudes!—
But when wilt thou return?
Along thine own free air,
There are young sweet voices borne-
Oh! should not thine be there?
Still at thy father's board
There is kept a place for thee,
And by thy smile restored,
Joy round the hearth shall be.
Still hath thy mother's eye,
Thy coming step to greet,
A look of days gone by,
Tender, and gravely sweet.
Still, when the prayer is said,
For thee kind bosoms yearn,
For thee fond tears are shed—
Oh! when wilt thou return?
MARY, when the sun is down,
Steal unnoticed from the town,
Through the dew of daisied green,
Like a shadow dimly seen,
Unto where the lilied rill
Winds around the woody hill,
Giving to thy lover's arms,
Truth, and youth, and sacred charms.
When the night doth darken eve,
Thou thy bower mayst safely leave :—
Thou canst have no dread of night,
Having thoughts as pure as light!
Vice may then not be a-bed,
But the wicked have a dread
Of a chaste-eyed maiden's frown,
That keeps ruder passions down.
When the bat hath tired his wing,
And the cricket ceased to sing,
And the sad, sweet nightingale
'Gins to tell her tender tale;
Steal thy path across the green,
Like a shadow dimly seen,
Or a late-returning dove
Winging lonely to her love.
When the first star of the night
Beams with rays of ruddy light,
(Like the lashes of thine eyes
Startling sleep, that sweetly lies
As the bee upon his bed,
Nestling by a blue-bell's head),
Steal thy way through green and grove,
Silent as the moon doth move.
When the dew is on our feet,
Then the woodland walk is sweet;
When no eye but heaven's doth see,
Then 't is sweet with thee to be:
We have passed long hours alone,
Overseen and heard by none;
And may wile a many more,
Till our life, not love, be o'er.
BY JOHN ROBY, ESQ.
WHEN first I knew thee, still too dear,
I fondly loved thee too;
Apparent worth, a heart sincere,
Made me believe thee true.
Each cheering smile thy cheek had worn, Then lingered but for me;
But now the mask's thrown off,-I scorn To waste one thought on thee.
Thine image once came o'er my heart
Like sunshine 'mid the storm;
But now its light must hence depart,
That beam no more can warm.
No more thy smile around me plays,
And darkness turns to light,-
As soon might yon dull meteor-blaze
Dispel the gloom of night.
That rosy smile, to others given,
My heart esteems no more;
Its hue, pure as the blush of heaven,
No
power can e'er restore.
It falls upon my withered breast,
But cannot cheer it now;
The fondest love we once confessed,
Now leaves no quickening glow.
And yet as bright, as sunny still,
Those smiles break o'er my soul;
To make its darkness visible,--
They 'round my bosom roll.
Passion's wild burst-the stormy brow,
Their wrath I'd sooner brave,
Than sunny smiles that mock my woe,
Like flowers that deck the grave.
Oh, hadst thou still to me been true,
As once thy lips confessed,
No power had torn-as now I do-
Their image from my breast.
But thou art false-inconstant thou-
The rest I need not tell;
Another's arms await me now-
For ever fare thee well!
"FORGET thee?"-If to dream by night, and muse on thee by
If all the worship, deep and wild, a poet's heart can pay;
If tears in absence, breathed for thee to heaven's protecting power;
If winged thoughts that flit to thee a thousand in an hour;
If busy Fancy blending thee with all my future lot;
If this thou call'st "forgetting," thou, indeed, shalt be forgot!
“Forget thee?”—Bid the forest-birds forget their sweetest tune! Forget thee?"-Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon; Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve's refreshing dew; Thyself forget thine "own dear land," and its mountains wild and blue;
Forget each old familiar face, each long-remembered spot;
When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot!
Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and fancy-free;
For, God forbid, thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me;
Yet, while that heart is still unwon, oh, bid not mine to rove,
But let it muse its humble faith, and uncomplaining love;
If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not,
Forget me then; but ne'er believe, that thou canst be forgot!
Friendship's Offering.
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