Nor wert thou only by thy kindred… Young mother! gentle daughter! che… Deep in her memory France hath fo… The records of thy unassuming life… Oft shall the statue heroine bring…

OH! treasured thus by passion’s s… Dear relic of the bygone year; Say, what remains of her who gave? The vain regret—the useless tear. The clasping hands—the throbbing b…

In the cold change which time hath… (The snowy winter of his summer pr… Should a chance sigh or sudden tea… Thy heart to memory of the olden t… Turn not to gaze on me with pityin…

HOW Memory haunts us! When we fa… Alone and free, Uninterrupted by his mournful word… Faint, indistinct, as are a wind-h… Hung on a leafless tree,—

THERE was a lady, who had early… One whom she saw and lov’d in her… When life was yet untried—and when… He, too, lov’d her, he spoke no mo… He lov’d as well as baser natures…

Love not, love not! ye hapless son… Hope’s gayest wreaths are made of… Things that are made to fade and f… Ere they have blossom’d for a few… Love not!

RAPHAEL. BLESS’D wert thou, whom Death,… Bore from the world on swift and s… Ere age or weakness dimm’d one bri… Of thy rapt spirit’s high imaginin…

SURELY I heard a voice-surely m… Was breathed in tones familiar to… I listened-and the low wind steali… In darkness and in silence to depa… Surely I saw a form, a proud brig…

HERE, where the rain-drops may n… Where the unfelt and distant breez… Here, where the stranger paces slo… Why mutely art thou hanging thus a… Thou, that hast seen blood shed fo…

IT is the twilight hour, The daylight toil is done, And the last rays are departing Of the cold and wintry sun. It is the time when Friendship

MARK’D—as the hours should be,… With one illustrious, or a cherish… Rich in the value of that double c… Since Fame allots the friend a Po… My “Winter’s Walk” asserts its ri…

COME to the grave—the silent gra… Of a light, happy voice—so full of… That those who heard her laugh, wo… Echoing the mirth of such an innoc… And pause in their own converse, t…

BE frank with me, and I accept my… But deal not with me as a grieving… Who for the loss of that which he… Is by a show of kindness thus begu… Raise not for me, from its enshrou…

TO MISS AUGUSTA COWELL. [To whom I owe the popularity of… WHEN thy light fingers touch th’… Which, with a gentle murmur, low r… Waiting the measure of the coming…