Yes, Peace and Love might build a nest
For us amid these vales serene,
And Truth should be our constant guest
Among these pleasant wild-woods green.
My heart should never nurse again

The once fond dreams of young Ambition, And Glory's light should lure in vain,

Lest it should lead to Love's perdition; Another light should round me shine, Beloved, from those eyes of thine!'

Ah, Gilbert! happy should I be
This hour to die, lest fate reveal
That life can never give a joy

Such as the joy that now I feel.
Oh! happy! happy! now to die,
And go before thee to the sky;
Losing, may be, some charm of life,
But yet escaping all its strife;
And, watching for thy soul above,
There to renew more perfect love,
Without the pain and tears of this
Eternal, never palling bliss!'

And more she yet would say, and strives to speak,

But warm,

fast tears begin to course her cheek,

And sobs to choke her; so, reclining still Her head upon his breast, she weeps her fill:

And all so lovely in those joyous tears
To his impassioned eyes the maid appears;
He cannot dry them, nor one word essay
To soothe such sorrow from her heart away.

At last she lifts her drooping head,

And, with her delicate fingers, dashes The tears away that hang like pearls

Upon her soft eyes' silken lashes: Then hand in hand they take their way

O'er the green meadow gemmed with dew, And up the hill, and through the wood, And by the streamlet, bright and blue, And sit them down upon a stone With mantling mosses overgrown, That stands beside her cottage door, And oft repeat,

When next they meet,

That time shall never part them more.

He's gone! Ah no! he lingers yet,

And all her sorrow, who can tell? As gazing on her face he takes

His last and passionate farewell? 'One kiss! said he, 'and I depart With thy dear image in my heart:

The lightnings rend its tall masts three;
But neither the wind, nor the rain, nor the sea
Can injure me can injure me.

The lightnings cannot strike me down
Whirlwinds wreck, or whirpools down;
And the ship to be lost ere the break of
morn,

May pass o'er my head in saucy scorn;
And when the night unveils its face
I may float, unharmed, in my usual place,
And the ship may show to the pitying stars
No remnant but her broken spars.
Among the shells

In the ocean dells

The ships, the crews, and the captains lie,
But the floating straw looks up to the sky.
And the humble and contented man,
Unknown to fortune, escapes her ban,
And rides secure when breakers leap,
And mighty ships go down to the deep.

May pleasant breezes waft them home
That plough with their keels the driving foam.
Heaven be their hope, and Truth their law,
There needs no prayer for the floating straw.