I CANNOT FORGET THEE.

C. C. RAWLINGS.

I CANNOT forget thee! thy spirit is here-
Unseen and unheard thou art still ever near;
Though days may have passed since together we met,
Thine image still haunts me-I cannot forget.

When the soft sighing breeze wafts its melodies near,
Thy voice sweetly warbling in fancy I hear;
When bright loving visions at even-time gleam,
I see thee before me in Love's golden dream.

O'er my heart thy bright image its impress hath made:
That impress nor absence, nor distance shall fade;
But here in my soul will I cherish thee yet,-
I have seen thee and loved thee-I cannot forget.

SPEAK TENDER WORDS.

MRS. MARY HEWITT.

SPEAK tender words, mine own beloved, to me;
Call me thy lily-thy imperial one,

That, like the Persian, breathes adoringly
Its fragrant worship ever to the sun.

Speak tender words, lest doubt with me prevail;
Call me thy rose-thy queen rose! throned apart,
That all unheedful of the nightingale,

Folds close the dew within her burning heart.
For thou art the sun that makes my heaven fair,
Thy love, the blest dew that sustains me here;
And like the plant that hath its root in air,
I only live within thy atmosphere.

Look on me with those soul-illumined eyes,
And murmur low in love's entrancing tone-
Methinks the angel-lute of paradise,

Had never voice so thrilling as thine own!

Say I am dearer to thee than renown,

My praise more treasured than the world's acclaim : Call me thy laurel-thy victorious crown,

Wreathed in unfading glory round thy name. Breathe low to me each pure, enraptured thought, While thus thy arms my trusting heart entwine: Call me by all fond meanings love hath wrought, But oh, Ianthis, ever call me thine!

THE STAR OF LOVE.

LOVE.

WILLIAM W. STORY.

LOVE never out of likeness springs,
Joy marries not to joy;

The strong unto the gentle clings,
The maiden to the boy.
Around the oak the ivy twines,

The granite fronts the sea;
Each to its opposite inclines,
By strange affinity.

The star into the deep looks down,
The deep dreams of the star;
Nor distance nor decay are known,
Where love and longing are.
Who shall the mystery unfold,
That maketh hearts agree?
The secret never will be told,
That bindeth thee to me.

23

THE STAR OF LOVE.*

GEO. P. MORRIS.

[Music by W. V. Wallace.

THE star of love now shines above,

Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;

Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves

Its serenade for thee.

The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees,

Their minstrelsy unite,

But all are drear till thou appear,

To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon,
Though with a milder ray,

O'er hill and grove, like woman's love,

It cheers us on our way.

Thus all that's bright, the moon, the night,

The heavens, the earth, the sea,

Exert their powers to bless the hours

We dedicate to thee.

We often hear this little song tinkled on the pianos west of Temple Bar.

composer of "Maritana" has set it to a pleasing air.

The

OH! BEAUTIFUL ART THOU.
MRS. OSGOOD.

On! beautiful art thou as glowing morn,

When, from her dewy, rose-wreathed, orient bower, She flings to every cloud beside her borne,

To warm its heart of snow, a blushing flower. And thou art graceful as the jasmine spray, Waved to Æolian melody in air;

And free and joyous as a rivulet's play,

And true as Truth, and pure as holy prayer.

I've wreathed with heart-flowers many a beauty's shrine,
And pour'd, in song, the soul of passion there";

But oh! that melody and bloom divine

Were worse than wasted on the false as fair.
To thee to thee-with pilgrim heart I turn;
To thee my lute I fondly tune again;

Of thee love's sweet and glowing lore I'll learn,
Thy starlight smiles shall be his beaming chain.

THEY WERE GATHERED FOR A BRIDAL.

R. P. SMITH.

THEY were gathered for a bridal,

I knew it by their hue

Fair as the summer moonlight
Upon the sleeping dew,

From their fair and fairy sisters

They were borne without a sigh,

For one remembered evening
To blossom and to die.

They were gathered for a bridal,
And fastened in a wreath;

But purer were the roses

Than the heart that lay beneath;

Yet the beaming eye was lovely,
And the coral lip was fair,
And the gazer looked and asked not
For the secret hidden there.

They were gathered for a bridal,

[Several Composers.

Where a thousand torches glistened,
When the holy words were spoken,

And the false and faithless listened

The angels sprinkled holy dew
Upon the blessed flower:

I glory to resign it, love,
Though it was dear to me;
Amid thy laurels twine it, love,
It only blooms for thee.

There was a rich and radiant gem
I long kept hid from sight,
Lost from some seraph's diadem-

It shone with heaven's own light!
The world could never tear it, love,
That gem of gems from me;
Yet on thy fond breast wear it, love,
It only shines for thee.

There was a bird came to my breast,
When I was very young;

I only knew that sweet bird's nest,
To me she only sung:

But ah! one summer day, love,
I saw that bird depart;
The truant flew thy way, love,

And nestled in thy heart.

* The authoress of this song sometimes shelters herself under the euphonious nom de plume of "Grace Greenwood." The American ladies are fond of rustic nominal fictions, and usually select them with great taste.

COME TO ME, LOVE.

MRS. EMBURY.

[Adapted to several popular English Melodies.

COME to me, love; forget each sordid duty
That chains thy footsteps to the crowded mart,
Come, look with me upon earth's summer beauty,
And let its influence cheer thy weary heart.

Come to me, love!

Come to me, love; the voice of song is swelling
From nature's harp in every varied tone,
And many a voice of bird and bee is telling
A tale of joy amid the forests, love.

Come to me, love!

Come to me, love; my heart can never doubt thee,
Yet for thy sweet companionship I pine;
Oh, never more can joy be joy without thee,
My pleasures, even as my life, are thine.

Come to me, love!

SUMMER IN THE HEART.
EPES SARGEANT.

THE cold blast at the casement beats,
The window-panes are white;

The snow whirls through the empty streets-
It is a dreary night!

Sit down, old friend, the wine-cups wait,

Fill to o'erflowing, fill!

Though winter howleth at the gate,

In our hearts 'tis summer still.

For we full many summer joys

And greenwood sports have shared,
When, free and ever-roving boys,
The rocks, the streams we dared!
And as I look upon thy face-

Back, back, ere years of ill,
My heart flies to that happy place,
Where it is summer still.

Yes, though, like sere leaves on the ground,

Our early hopes are strown,

And cherish'd flowers lie dead around,

And singing birds are flown,