Oh! deeply have I trusted, while I listened to thy vow, And dreamed not that deceit _could_ rest upon so fair a brow; But well unto my heart the bitter lesson has been taught That oft love’s words, when sweetest, with deceitfulness are fraught— And though the slighted heart may hide its bitterness of wo, There is yet a fount of sorrow, the world may never know. Then ask me not thy love and _faithlessness_ so coldly to forget, Or that our early destinies have once so sadly met. Can the sea blot out the burning stars reflected on its breast, Or the caged bird forget the haunts where first it built its nest? The wildest storm that rocks the one, gives place to stars again, And though the captive bird sings on, ’tis a lovèd green-wood strain! The ocean-shell forgets not its low, sweet plaintive moan, Nor the human harp the tones that once were all its own; But quivering on its strings, there ever will be found An echo-tone of memory—an unforgotten sound— And though the chords be broken—its glad music at an end, With its murmured melody, a strain of other years will blend! * * * * * FOR AND AGAINST. FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE WALTER HERRIES, ESQ. I don’t think I ever really loved but once; fancies I have had, and fond ones, too; but now when the cold, gray twilight of age is dimming the visions of the past, memory still recalls, with wonderful power, one bright face from the fair picture gallery of my early loves—the face of Edla Fane, the schoolmaster’s daughter. Beautiful she was not, and yet I loved her, as I learned too late. She seemed to bind me by some spell of witchery that I could not withstand, and yet against which I rebelled, because it appealed not to my outer senses. I understand it now; she bound me by the might of a lofty, spiritual love; and I blindly cast aside that gem of countless price to grasp the dross of earth. High-toned, and pure-minded, tender, and confiding as a child, yet with a sweet womanly pride, and withal a dash of quiet humor, Edla Fane kept me vacillating near her for a many months. At one time feeling as though I could fall at her feet and worship her, at another fearing I had expressed too much, and withdrawing in cold reserve. One evening a cold mood came over me; I feared I had committed myself in my ardent protestations to Edla, and now spoke with the calmness of friendship or platonic affection. She listened with a slight curve of her expressive lip, and assented to my proposal of affectionate friendship so readily, that my self-love was aroused, and with characteristic variableness my feelings gained immediate force again. But Edla remained unmoved. The next day I received the following lines in a blank envelope.