I THINK OF THEE!

Alaric Watts.

I THINK of thee-I think of thee,-
And all that thou hast borne for me;
In hours of gloom, or heartless glee,
I think of thee-I think of thee!

When fiercest rage the storms of Fate,
And all around is desolate,

I pour on life's tempestuous sea

The oil of peace, with thoughts of thee.

When fortune frowns, and hope deceives me,
And summer-friendship veers and leaves me,
A Timon-from the world I flee;

My wreck of wealth, sweet dreams of thee!

Or if I join the careless crowd,

Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud;
Even in my hours of revelry

I think of thee-I think of thee!

I think of thee-I think and sigh
O'er blighted years and bliss gone by;
And mourn the stern, severe decree
That hath but left me thoughts of thee.

In youth's gay hours, 'mid pleasure's bowers,
When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers,
We met-I bent the adoring knee,

And told a tender tale to thee.

'Twas summer's eve: the heavens aboveEarth, ocean, air, were full of love; Nature around kept jubilee,

When first I breathed that tale to thee.

The crystal clouds that hung on high
Were blue as thy delicious eye;
The stirless shore and sleeping sea
Seemed emblems of repose and thee.

I spoke of hope-I spoke of fear:
Thy answer was a blush and tear;
But this was eloquence to me,
And more than I had asked of thee.

I looked into thy dewy eye,
And echoed thy half stifled sigh;
I clasped thy hand, and vowed to be
The soul of love and truth to thee.

The scene and hour are past: yet still
Remains a deep impassioned thrill;
A sun-set glow on memory,
Which kindles at a thought of thee!

We loved! how wildly and how well,
'Twere worse than idle now to tell!
From love and life alike thou'rt free,
And I am left to think of thee.

Though years, long years, have darkly sped Since thou wert numbered with the dead, In fancy oft thy form I see,

In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee.

Thy beauty, helplessness, and youth-
Thy hapless fate, untiring truth,
Are spells that often touch the key
Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee.

The bitter frowns of friends estranged-
The chilling straits of fortunes changed;
All this, and more, thou'st borne for me:
Then how can I be false to thee?

I never will-I'll think of thee
Till fades the power of memory:
In weal or woe, in gloom or glee,
I'll think of thee-I'll think of thee!

DREAMS:

OH, there is a dream of early youth,
And it never comes again;

'Tis a vision of light, and life, and truth,

That flits across the brain :

And love is the theme of that early dream,

So wild, so warm, so new,

That in all our after years, I deem,

That early dream we rue.

Oh! there is a dream of maturer years,

More turbulent by far;

'Tis a vision of blood and woman's tears,

For the theme of that dream is war;

Anonymous.

And we toil in the field of danger and death,

And shout in the battle array,

Till we find that fame is a bodyless breath

That vanisheth away.

Oh! there is a dream of hoary age,
'Tis a vision of gold in store-

Of sums noted down on the figured page,
To be counted o'er and o'er;

And we fondly trust in our glittering dust
As a refuge from grief and pain,

Till our limbs are laid on that last dark bed
Where the wealth of the world is vain.

And is it thus from man's birth to his grave,
In the paths which all are treading?
Is there nought in that dark career to save
From remorse and self-upbraiding?
O, yes! there's a dream so pure, so bright,
That the being to whom it is given,

Hath bathed in a sea of living light,
And the theme of that dream is heaven!

FAREWELL.

ONE word, although that word should pass

Almost neglected by

With no more care than what the glass

Bears of a passing sigh.

L. E. L.

One word to breathe of love to thee,

One low, one timid wordTo say thou art beloved by me, But rather felt than heard.

I would I were a favorite flower,
Within thy hand to pine;

Life could not have a dearer power
Than making such fate mine.

I would I were a tone of song,
Upon thy ear to die;

A rose's breath, that borne along,
I might mix with thy sigh.

I do not wish thy heart were won ;
Mine own, with such excess,
Would, like the flower beneath the sun,
Die with its happiness.

I pray for thee on bended knee,
But not for mine own sake;

My heart's best prayers are all for thee-
It prays, itself to break.

Farewell, farewell! I would not leave

A single trace behind:

Why should a thought of me to grieve, Be left upon thy mind?

I would not have thy memory dwell
Upon one thought of pain;
And sad it must be, the farewell

Of one who loved in vain.