BY JOHN I. BAILEY.
Oh! leave me still thy tender heart, Though love's delirious reign is over; I, too, will act the traitor's part— Cordelia-like, become a rover. No more I'll gaze on smiles of thine, That beam as sweetly on another, Save with the feelings pure that twine Around the bosom of a brother.
Loved smiles! that once around me shone, And waked to feelings of devotion; Thy sway is past, thy charm is gone— Thou art resigned without emotion. No more to charm my wildered dream, Or hope's delusive joys to heighten; O'er my lone heart thy cheerless beam Falls, but has lost the power to brighten.
The auburn ringlets of thy hair May twine as graceful still, and let them— Those locks were once as loved as fair, Yet lost to me, I'll ne'er regret them. Yes! I could view those curls entwine Around another's hand that wreath'd them; Unmoved, recall those tones divine, Once sweet as were the lips that breath'd them!
Thy form no longer wears the spell, As when a lover's dreams it haunted; Nor can affection fondly dwell On every grace that once enchanted. Then fare thee well! thou'st broke the chain; Go! yield thy charms to bless another; I would not seek their wiles again, I only ask—to be thy brother.
SONNET TO MYRA.
BY A. L. BLAUVELT.
How sad the exile from his native skies Doom'd on the shade of parted bliss to dwell— No ear to catch his penitential sighs, No voice to soothe him in his last farewell. Anxious he treads th' inhospitable shore, And gazes anxious on the main Where ling'ring fancy loves to feign Till day's last lustre bids her wake no more; Then horror climbs the dusky wave, And beckons madness to her grave, Where, cradled by the surge to rest, Low sighs the passing gale, "Despair is blest." Ah! sadder far an exile from thy charms; Friends, Country, Freedom, smile in Myra's arms.