Yes! thou art lovelier now than ever; How sweet 'twould be, when all the air In moonlight swims, along thy river To couch upon the grass, and hear Niagara's everlasting voice, Far in the deep blue west away; That dreaming and poetic noise We mark not in the glare of day, Oh! how unlike its torrent-cry, When o'er the brink the tide is driven, As if the vast and sheeted sky In thunder fell from heaven. IV. Were I but there, the daylight fled, With that smooth air, the stream, the sky, And lying on that minstrel bed Of nature's own embroidery With those long tearful willows o'er me, That weeping fount, that solemn light, With scenes of sighing tales before me, And one green, maiden grave in sight; How mournfully the strain would rise Of that true maid, whose fate can yet Draw rainy tears from stubborn eyes; From lids that ne'er before were wet. She lies not here, but that green grave Is sacred from the plough--and flowers, Snow-drops, and valley-lilies, wave Amid the grass; and other showers Than those of heaven have fallen there. TO --- When that eye of light shall in darkness fall, And thy bosom be shrouded in death's cold pall, When the bloom of that rich red lip shall fade, And thy head on its pillow of dust be laid; Oh! then thy spirit shall see how true Are the holy vows I have breathed to you; My form shall moulder thy grave beside, And in the blue heavens I'll seek my bride. Then we'll tell, as we tread yon azure sphere, Of the woes we have known while lingering here; And our spirits shall joy that, their pilgrimage o'er, They have met in the heavens to sever no more. LINES. Day gradual fades, in evening gray, Its last faint beam hath fled, And sinks the sun's declining ray In ocean's wavy bed. So o'er the loves and joys of youth Thy waves, Indifference, roll; So mantles round our days of truth That death-pool of the soul. Spreads o'er the heavens the shadowy night Her dim and shapeless form, So human pleasures, frail and light, Are lost in passion's storm. So fades the sunshine of the breast, So passion's dreamings fall, So friendship's fervours sink to rest, Oblivion shrouds them all. TO EVA. A beam upon the myrtle fell From dewy evening's purest sky, 'Twas like the glance I love so well, Dear Eva, from thy moonlight eye. I looked around the summer grove, On every tree its lustre shone; For all had felt that look of love The silly myrtle deemed its own. Eva! behold thine image there, As fair, as false thy glances fall; But who the worthless smile would share That sheds its light alike on all. TO A LADY WITH A WITHERED VIOLET. Though fate upon this faded flower His withering hand has laid, Its odour'd breath defies his power, Its sweets are undecayed. And thus, although thy warbled strains No longer wildly thrill, The memory of the song remains, Its soul is with me still. BRONX.