And, Edith, come thou in the blooming time, Thy world will not miss thee for just one hour; I'd like it best when the Bells low chime, And the earth is full of the sunset's power; And bend by the silently settling heap, While the Nature we loved, is a May all round, While God broods low on the blue arched sweep, And the music-full air is a-thrill with sound. And look in thy heart circled up in the past, By the parting clasp, and the death despair. Encirqued with the light of the pale regret, Of a "might have been" of a day-dream lent, With a constant hope of a meeting yet, Oh! I shall not want for a Monument. A VALENTINE. OME back to my bosom, Mary, Come back to your home at last ; Forget all the doubt and anguish, And the troubled and wasted past. My heart has been longing, longing, Come back to my arms, my Mary, How like a terrible vision The past with its pain has been ; How many the groans unnoted, And the tears that have flowed unseen. I wrestled for wealth and honour, Ah! those that around me fluttered, Should have weighed it 'gainst the sorrow The years have lain heavily on me, And shadowed and seamed my brow; And the hot tears follow the wrinkles I'm weaker and feebler, Mary, I'm lonely and growing old; And my home is so cheerless, Mary, And the world is so strange and cold. And Mary, I've loved you always, Through all those terrible years ; But Heaven alone is witness, And the pillow that drank my tears. The clamorous cry for affection Grew in me and would not be stilled, With the sense that the one great purpose Of being was unfulfilled. I own it with sorrow, Mary, I doubted you many a day, Till he who wrought trouble between us Sin-stricken and dying lay; And then I discovered my error, I was angry and hasty, Mary, And 'twas pride that in judgment sat; But forgive me, my own dear Mary, I've suffered-I've suffered for that. I know that I ought to have spoken They tell me, that though the silver The old look of peace is still there; That you cheerfully do your duty, Ah, Mary! you still have that blessing And yet, how you must have suffered, But say you forgive me, Mary, And come to your home again; And I'll strive to repay you, darling, For the sorrow I caused you then. CHRISTMAS GREETINGS. HE jokes and the joys of the season, May loved ones flock round thee in plenty, Be thine all the cheer of the season, Be thy sources of pleasure many, TO THE OCEAN. H! thou glorious, far-off ocean, Oh! I never yet beside thee Of the myriad-handed commerce And I oft in dreams behold thee, See the mad, impassioned fury And thy anger-pallid billows Lapsing wildly o'er and o'er, Rimpling, twinkling 'neath the starlight, O'er thy flushed and slumberous cheek, |