"Well hast thou chosen!—I blame thee not—I that unwept must die;
Live, thou beloved, and trustful yet! No more on human head,
Be the sorrows of unworthy gifts from bitter vials shed!"
Blackwood's Magazine.
A MOORE-ISH MELODY.
Oh! give me not unmeaning smiles,
Though worldly clouds may fly before them;
But let me see the sweet blue isles
Of radiant eyes when tears wash o'er them.