Come, oh song, and charm my sadness, For I fain would weep, With melodious notes of gladness Wooing balmy sleep. While the troops of stars are smiling Calm my fevered brow, All my soul with sound beguiling, Charm, oh! charm me now. Golden daylight hath its laughter, Moonlight hath its tears; Songs are dreams which follow after Thought along the years. Waves of joy, and waves of sorrow, Placid, turbulent, Darkest days have bright to-morrows, Each a message sent. Love and life on wings are flying, Dreams of yesterday, Like the precious hours, are lying Far from us to-day. Sing, then, sing your sweetest number Softer than a sigh, That it bring me dreamless slumber For my weary eye. And thy song shall be for dreamers Tender, soft, and low, And the tune that Boreas murmurs, Which none others know. Waft, oh voice of song, thy measure O’er the air of even, Till the soul, consumed with pleasure, Wakes to thoughts of Heaven. ALIENATION. What gulf so deep, what arid desert plain, Or dreary vastitude of ocean main, So deep as the divide of hearts once stirred To sweet response, which only winds had heard? The dead who live but love us now no more, Gone are the echoes of the tones of yore; The faces of our sighs and tears and dreams Are cold as gleaming ice on frozen streams. The days that were may ne’er return again, Though each perchance has felt the aching pain; Yet pride forbade thy wounded heart to let Me plead; but, oh! thou never can’st forget. ’Tis destiny’s decree, and ’twere not meet That when I see thy cold eyes I should greet Thee more--thy burning heart ’neath snow Can never flame again with tender glow. And yet how strange that it should thus befall, Since love is dead, that fain we would recall Each note that trembled on the golden lyre, Ere it lay silent on the funeral pyre. So be it: Destiny for all sad mortals leaves Some little grains of comfort from life’s sheaves; So, though my love be lost to me for aye, The flowers of memory ne’er will fade away. AT NIGHT. When sinks the sun a globe of gold Across the ocean’s breast, And night doth all the world enfold, My spirit will not rest. And forth it speeds without a sound, For nought can bind my will. The moonbeams cast a halo round, And everything is still. Once more I tread the flowery field As in the days of yore, My beating heart doth almost yield When near the garden door. There stand the stately old elm trees Which once my childhood knew, The tulips bend unto the breeze, The fountain plashes, too.