ough wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, ada baA rough midnight hours that yield no more their former STANZAS FOR MUSIC. THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lulled winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Then thou would'st at last discover Though the world for this commend thee— Than the one which once embraced me, Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; Love But by sudden wrench, believe not Still thine own its life retaineth Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is-that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead; |