YOU REMEMBER THE MAID.

You remember the maid with her dark-brown hair,

And her brow, where the finger of beauty

Had written her name, and had stamped it there,

Till it made adoration a duty!

And you have not forgot how we watched with delight Each charm,—as a new one was given,

Till she grew in our eyes to a vision of light,

And we thought her a spirit from heaven!

And your heart can recall-and mine often goes back, With a sigh and a tear, to-the hours

When we gazed on her form, as she followed the track Of the butterfly's wing through the flowers;

When, in her young joy, she would smile, with delight,
On its plumage of mingling dyes,

Till she let it go free,—and looked after its flight,
To see if it entered the skies!

But she wandered away from the home of her youth,
One spring, ere the roses were blown!

For she fancied the world was a temple of truth,
And she measured all hearts by her own!-

She fed on a vision, and lived on a dream,

And she followed it over the wave;

And she sought-where the moon has a milder gleam,

For a home,--and they gave her a grave!

There was one whom she loved, though she breathed

it to none,

-For love of her soul was a part!

And he said he loved her, but he left her alone,

With the worm of despair on her heart!

And oh ! with what anguish we counted, each day,

The roses that died on her cheek,

And hung o'er her form, as it faded away,

And wept for the beautiful wreck!

Yet her eye was as mild and as blue, to the last,

Though shadows stole over its beam;

And her smiles are remembered--since long they are

past!—

Like the smiles we have seen in a dream!

And it may be that fancy had woven a spell,

But—I think, though her tones were as clear,

They were somewhat more soft, and their murmurings

fell

Like a dirge, on the listening ear!

And, while sorrow threw round her a holier grace,
-Though she always was gentle and kind !--

Yet, I thought that the softness which stole o'er her face,

Had a softening power on her mind!__

But, it might be her looks and her tones were more dear, And we valued them more, in 'decay,

As we treasure the last fading flower of the year,

-For we felt she was passing away!

She never complained,—but she loved to the last!

And the tear in her beautiful eye

T

Often told that her thoughts were gone back to the past,

And the youth who had left her to die!

-But mercy came down, and the maid is at rest,
Where the palm-tree sighs o'er her at even;

And the dew that weeps over the turf on her breast,
Is the tear of a far-foreign heaven!

STANZAS.

AWAY-AWAY! AND BEAR THY BREAST,

AWAY-away! and bear thy breast

To some more pleasant strand!

Why did it pitch its tent of rest

Within a desert land !

Though clouds may dim thy distant skies,

And love look dark before thee,

Yet colder hearts and falser eyes

Have flung their shadows o'er thee!

It is, at least, a joy to know

That thou hast felt the worst,

And if for thee no waters flow,

Thou never more shalt thirst!