No more I hear thy thrilling voice, Nor see thy winning face; That once would gleam like morning's beam, In mental pride and grace: Thy form of matchless symmetry, In sweet perfection cast-- Is now the star of memory That fades not with the past. I miss thee everywhere, beloved, I miss thee everywhere; Both night and day wear dull away, And leave me in despair. The banquet-hall, the play, the ball, And childhood's sportive glee, Have lost their spell for me, beloved, My souls is full of thee! Has Rosabel forgotten me, And love I now in vain? If that be so, my heart can know No rest on earth again. A sad and weary lot is mine, To love and be forgot; A sad and weary lot beloved-- A sad and weary lot! The Tyrant Sway. The heart that owns thy tyrant sway, Whate'er its hopes may be, Is like a bark that drifts away Upon a shoreless sea! No compass left to guide her on, Upon the surge she's tempest-torn-- And such is life to me! And what is life when love is fled? The world, unshared by thee? I'd rather slumber with the dead, Than such a waif to be! The bark that by no compass steers Is lost, which way soe'er she veers-- And such is life to me! A Hero of the Revolution. Let not a tear be shed! Of grief give not a token, Although the silver thread And golden bowl be broken! A warrior lived--a Christian died! Sorrow's forgotten in our pride! Go, bring his battle-blade, His helmet and his plume! And be his trophies laid Beside him in the tomb, Where files of time-marked veterans come With martial tramp and muffled drum! Give to the earth his frame, To moulder and decay; But not his deathless name-- That can not pass away! In youth, in manhood, and in age, He dignified his country's page! Green be the willow-bough Above the swelling mound, Where sleeps the hero now In consecrated ground: Thy epitaph, O Delavan! God's noblest work--an honest man! Rhyme and Reason. An Apologue. Two children of the olden time In Flora's primrose season, Were born. The name of one was Rhyme That of the other Reason. And both were beautiful and fair, And pure as mountain stream and air. As the boys together grew, Happy fled their hours-- Grief or care they never knew In the Paphian bowers. See them roaming, hand in hand, The pride of all the choral band! Music with harp of golden strings, Love with bow and quiver, Airy sprites on radiant wings, Nymphs of wood and river, Joined the Muses' constant song, As Rhyme and Reason passed along. But the scene was changed--the boys Left their native soil-- Rhyme's pursuit was idle joys, Reason's manly toil: Soon Rhyme was starving in a ditch, While Reason grew exceeding rich. Since the dark and fatal hour, When the brothers parted, Reason has had wealth and power-- Rhyme's poor and broken-hearted! And now, or bright, or stormy weather, They twain are seldom seen together. Starlight Recollections.