And _she_, thy chosen one, may bring A heart of love to thee, But not more loving, true, than mine, I _know_ it _cannot_ be. But mine must throbless, pulseless be, Its warm outgushings still. But you will sometimes think of her, Who rests so pale and chill. Oh! sometimes fancy that my arms Are fondly round thee twined, And that my cheek, once warm and fair, Is closely pressed to thine. When I am gone, forever gone, I'd be remembered yet, Oh! think of me sometimes, beloved, And _never_ quite forget! WE PARTED. BY M. A. RICE. We parted at the dawn of day, While in the east a bright cloud lay Awaiting the approaching sun; The night, with all its dreams, was done, The birds sang sweetly from each spray; Dim mists began to speed away. We parted at the old street door-- I stood and blessed him o'er and o'er, As down the dear old grass-grown way Which sparkling in the dew-drops lay, He passed with slow, unwilling tread, With tearful eyes and bended head. He left us--he, the gifted boy, The worshipped to idolatry. But sixteen summer suns had shed Their gladsome smiles above his head, And now in memory's mirror fair He stands before me just as there-- With that endeared bewitching face, And form of more than sculptured grace-- With raven hair and eagle eye, And brow so sunny and so high. Long days of absence did I mourn And wish a brother's loved return; But, oh! how lonely were the hours, How scentless were the sweetest flowers, How joyless was the summer's sky, And well I wished the hours gone by! How oft at evening, sad and lone, I watched the silent stars that shone; And though they were so cold, so high, They seemed to gaze with sympathy; And many a gentle whispering gale, And many a silvery moon-beam pale, Can witness that the flight of years Stayed not affection's truest tears. Three summers, with their flowers, had cheered, And winter's snow as oft appeared; 'Twas said that our beloved would come Once more to his paternal home. The grape-vine o'er our cottage door Put out its glist'ning leaves once more; Fair flowers looked smiling from the ground-- A welcome mingled in each sound. And one there came with bearing high-- Ambition's fire was in his eye; But ah! how blighted was my joy, No feature of the lovely boy That parted with the bitter tear, Had left its cherished traces there!