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Their only doom was this-that, long
As the green earth and ocean stand,
They both shall wander here-the same,
Throughout all time, in heart and frame-
Still looking to that goal sublime,

Whose light remote, but sure, they see;
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time,
Whose home is in Eternity!
Subject, the while, to all the strife
True Love encounters in this life-
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;
The chill, that turns his warmest sighs
To earthly vapour, ere they rise;
The doubt he feeds on, and the pain
That in his very sweetness lies:-
Still worse, th' illusions that betray

His footsteps to their shining brink;
That tempt him, on his desert way

Through the bleak world, to bend and drink,
Where nothing meets his lips, alas !—
But he again must sighing pass
On to that far-off home of peace,
In which alone his thirst will cease.
All this they bear, but, not the less,
Have moments rich in happiness—
Blest meetings, after many a day
Of widowhood past far away,
When the loved face again is seen.
Close, close, with not a tear between-
Confidings frank, without control,
Pour'd mutually from soul to soul;
As free from any fear or doubt

As is that light from chill or stain,
The sun into the stars sheds out,

To be by them shed back again!—

That happy minglement of hearts,

Where, changed as chymic compounds are.
Each with its own existence parts,

To find a new one, happier far!

Such are their joys-and, crowning all,
That blessed hope of the bright hour,

When, happy and no more to fall,

Their spirits shall, with freshen'd power,

Rise up rewarded for their trust

In Him. from whom all goodness springs And, shaking off earth's soiling dust

From their emancipated wings, Wander for ever through those skies Of radiance, where Love never dies!

In what lone region of the earth
These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell,
God and the Angels, who look forth

To watch their steps, alone can tell.
But should we, in our wanderings,

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants
But the adornment of bright wings,

To look like heaven's inhabitants-
Who shine where'er they tread, and yet
Are humble in their earthly lot,
As is the wayside violet,

That shines unseen, and were it not
For its sweet breath would be forgot-
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one,
Whose voices utter the same wills-
Answering, as Echo doth some tone
Of fairy music 'mong the hills,

So like itself, we seek in vain.

Which is the echo, which the strain

Whose piety is love, whose love,

Though close as 'twere their souls' embrace,

Is not of earth, but from above

Like two fair mirrors, face to face, Whose light, from one to th' other thrown, Is heaven's reflection, not their ownShould we e'er meet with aught so pure,

So perfect here, we may be sure

"Tis ZARAPH and his bride we see; And call young lovers round, to view The pilgrim pair, as they pursue

Their pathway towards eternity.

Он, lost, for ever lost-no more
Shall Vesper light our dewy way
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore,
To hymn the fading fires of day;
No more to Tempé's distant vale

In holy musings shall we roam,
Through summer's glow and winter's gale,
To bear the mystic chaplets home.
'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal,

By nature warm'd and led by thee,
In every breeze was taught to feel

The breathings of a Deity.

Guide of my heart! still hovering round, Thy looks, thy words are still my ownI see thee raising from the ground

Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown, And hear thee say, "This humble bough Was planted for a doom divine; And, though it droop in languor now, Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine! Thus, in the vale of earthly sense,

Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, A viewless hand shall cull it thence, To bloom immortal in the skies!"

All that the young should feel and know, By thee was taught so sweetly well, Thy words fell soft as vernal snow,

And all was brightness where they fell! Fond soother of my infant tear,

Fond sharer of my infant joy,

Is not thy shade still ling'ring here?
Am I not still thy soul's employ?

Oh, yes-and, as in former days,
When, meeting on the sacred mount,

Our nymphs awak'd their choral lays,
And danc'd around Cassotis' fount;

As then, 'twas all my wish and care, That mine should be the simplest mien,

My lyre and voice the sweetest there, My foot the lightest o'er the green:

So still, each look and step to mould, Tay guardian care is round me spread, Arranging every snowy fold,

And guiding every mazy tread. And, when I lead the hymning choir, Thy spirit still, unseen and free, Lovers between my lip and lyre, And weds them into harmony. Flow, Plistus, flow; thy murmuring wave Shall never drop its silv'ry tear Jpon so pure, so blest a grave, To memory so eutirely dear 1

SONG.

WHEN time who steals our years away
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The mem'ry of the past will stay,
And half our joys renew.

Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flow'r
Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour

When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom:
Our joys shall always last;
For Hope shall brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,
I drink to Love and thee:
Thou never canst decay in soul,
Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy lips the tear-drop chase,
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
That sorrow leaves behind.

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom;

Our joys shall always last;

For Hope shall brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

But mark, at thought of future years
When love shall lose its soul,

My Chloe drops her timid tears,

They mingle with my bowl.

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,

Our loving life shall fleet;

Though tears may sometimes mingle there,

The draught will still be sweet.

Then fill the cup-away with gloom,

Our joys shall always last;

For Hope will brighten days to come,

And Mem'ry gild the past.