THE DESERTED.

For no refuge remains to that lone heart but breaking,

The silence of grief or the solace of tears.

Though the skies of my youth are now dark and o'erclouded,
Though the chill wind of misery withers my heart,
Though his fond vows of truth in oblivion are shrouded,
From me shall the glow of faith never depart ;-
As the sunbeam that glitters to vanish for ever,

As the snowflake that meets with, to melt in the wave,
As the wind-severed leaf that is swept down the river,
In the springtide of life I descend to the grave!

Then welcome, thrice welcome, the long wakeless slumber
That wraps in the bands of its silence the tomb;

Nor misery pierces, nor sorrows encumber

The turf where the cypress-tree waves in its gloom : And, perhaps, if long-smothered remorse should awaken, And affection return to the heart it hath fled,

The pity denied to a maiden forsaken

May be lavished in vain o'er the turf of the dead!

Farewell the gay prospects which once could allure me,
To think this poor earth was a promise of heaven:
Since he who once loved no more can endure me,

Too much with the darkness of fate I have striven.
The flowers with their odours, the birds with their singing,
The beauties of earth, and the glories of sky,
Dear, sad recollections, are constantly bringing,
And all that remains in this world is—to die!

M. MOIR.

211

IS merry in greenwood, thus runs the old lay,-
In the gladsome month of lively May,
When the wild bird's song on stem and spray
Invites to forest bower;

Then rears the ash his airy crest,

Then shines the birch in silver vest,

And the beech in glistening leaves is dressed,

And dark between shows the oak's proud breast,

Like a chieftain's frowning tower.