I'VE WATCHED YOU FROM THE SHORE.

I'VE watched you from the shore,
And I've watched you to the ship.
With a quick tear in the

eye,

And a quiver on the lip;

And distance hides at last,

From where, cold and still, I stand,
The last gaze of your shoreward look,
And the last wave of your hand.

You've shed the latest tear

That my cheek will ever wet,

And, in their latest kiss,

Our parted lips have met;
And, it's O that I could die,
To think, as here I stand,

I shall never hear your voice again,
Nor again shall clasp your hand!

OVER THE SEA.

OVER the sea-over the sea

O but my heart is over the sea!
Northern wind, northern wind, O might I be
Borne on thy shrilling blast
Over the sea!

Over the sea-over the sea,

O but her heart is over the sea!

Northward the white sails go; northward to me
O but she longs to fly

Over the sea!

OPE, FOLDED ROSE!

OPE, folded rose !

Longs for thy beauty the expectant air;

Longs every silken breeze that round thee blows; The watching summer longs to vaunt thee fair; Ope, folded rose !

Ope, folded rose !

The memory of thy glory lit the gloom,
The dull gray gloom of winter and its snows;
O dream of summer in the firelit room,
Ope, folded rose !

Ope, folded rose !

The thrush has still'd the rustling elm with song;
The cuckoo's call through shadowy woodlands goes;
May is the morn; why lingerest thou so long?
Ope, folded rose !

WISHES.

ON Bramshill's terrace walks Lady Clare;
O were I the purple peacock there,

That's petted and smooth'd by her hand so fair!

Lady Clare strolls through Bramshill's grounds;
O were I one of those white greyhounds
That, patted by her, break off in bounds!

O happy falcon! O might I stand,
Hooded and jess'd, on Lady Clare's hand,
To stoop at the heron at her command!

In Bramshill's chamber a cage is hung;
O that to its gilded perch I clung,

To be coax'd by her as I scream'd and swung!

O were I the silver cross, so blest!
In Bramshill's chapel, devoutly press'd
By Lady Clare to her heaving breast!

But, ah! that I were the locket of pearl
In her bosom hid! or, more blest, the curl
It treasures! O prized love-gage of the Earl!

Ride on, O Earl, by her palfrey's side!
O that I by Lady Clare might ride!
That she were to be, O Earl, my bride!

A SUMMER INVOCATION.
O GENTLE, gentle summer rain,
Let not the silver lily pine,
The drooping lily pine in vain

To feel that dewy touch of thine,
To drink thy freshness once again,
O gentle, gentle summer rain.

In heat, the landscape quivering lies;
The cattle pant beneath the tree;
Through parching air and purple skies,
* The earth looks up in vain for thee:
For thee, for thee, it looks in vain,
O gentle, gentle summer rain.

Come thou, and brim the meadow streams,
And soften all the hills with mist;
O falling dew, from burning dreams,
By thee shall herb and flower be kiss'd:
And earth shall bless thee yet again,
O gentle, gentle summer rain.

MARY! MARY!

THE grass is long above thy breast;
The clay is o'er thy head;
I'm lying on thy early grave,

Yet cannot think thee dead:
I cannot think that from my love

Thou art for ever fled,

Mary! Mary!

Thou hear'st my sobs-the groans

I utter for thy sake;

Alas! I dream a weary dream,

uncheck'd,

From which I cannot break-
A ghastly dream—a fearful dream;.
And shall I never wake,

Mary! Mary!

No more! to hear thy voice no more!
No more thy smile to see!

In groans I've said it o'er and o'er,

Yet cannot think 'twill be.

How can I think that thou art gone,

For ever gone from me,

Mary! Mary!

Through life to live without thy love!

To live, and live alone!

Till now that thou indeed art gone,
It was a thought unknown.
How could I dream of losing thee,
My own-my fond-my own-
Mary! Mary!

Why art thou taken from my love!
O Heaven! what sin is mine,
That thus in the full flush of life

Thou should'st our lives untwine!

That thus, so early, ere her time,

Thou, Heaven, should'st make her thine?

Mary! Mary!

My name was ever on thy lips

When life was ebbing fast;

The thought of me was with thee, love,
The dearest and the last,

O tell me, in the dark, cold grave,

From thee it hath not pass'd,

Mary! Mary!

Was it for this I left thee, love,
For many a weary year,
In care to struggle on to wealth,
That but for thee was dear,
In joy at last to seek thee, love,
And find thee lying here,

Mary Mary!

Hear me, thou hope-thou only joy,
Thou one dream of my heart!
Death sunders only to rejoin;

Whate'er, where'er thou art,

Hear thou the voice of my despair,

Not long-not long we part,

Mary! Mary!

THE FORSAKEN.

Ir's there that she loves to sit,

By the cool sea-breezes fann'd, With her babe 'neath the bending palms That shadow that island strand.

Her dusky brow has a calm

Too deep for a face so young;

And too wildly, sadly sweet

Are the songs to her infant sung.

And there, through the weary day,
She keeps from that lonely shore

Her watch o'er the distant sea,

For a sail that will come no more.

THE HOMEWARD WATCH.

THE sailor the deck is pacing,

And he hums a rough old song, Bearing north from its southern whaling, As the good ship drives along;