I know that thou art far away, Yet in my own despite My still expectant glances stray Inquiring for thy sight. Though all too sure that thy sweet face Can bless no glance of mine, At every turn, in every place, My eyes are seeking thine. I hope--how vain the hope, I know-- That some propitious chance May bring thee here again to throw Thy sweetness on my glance. But, loveliest one, where'er thou art, Whate'er be my despair, Mine eyes will seek thee, and my heart Will love thee every where. LINES. BY WILLIAM LEGGETT. [_Written beneath a dilapidated tower, yet standing among the ruins of Carthage._] Thou mouldering pile, that hath withstood The silent lapse of many ages, The earthquake's shock, the storm, the flood, Around whose base the ocean rages; Who reared thy walls that proudly brave The tempest, battle, and the wave? Was it beneath thy ample dome That Marius rested, and from thee, When he had lost imperial Rome, Learned high resolve and constancy? Thou seem'st to mock the power of fate, And well might'st teach the lesson great. Perhaps thy vaulted arch hath rung Of yore, with laughter's merry shout, While beauty round her glances flung To cheer some monarch's wassail rout; But mirth and beauty long have fled From this lone City of the Dead. Where busy thousands oft have trod Beneath thy mouldering marble brow, Wild moss-grown fragments press the sod, Around thee all is silence now. And thus the breath of foul decay Shall melt at last thy form away. Thou desolate, deserted pile, Lone vestage of departed glory, Sadly in ruin thou seem'st to smile, While baffled time flies frowning o'er thee, As if resolved the tale to tell Where Carthage stood, and how it fell. Midst ruined walls thou stand'st alone, Around thee strewn may yet be seen The broken column, sculptured stone, And relics sad of what hath been. But thou alone survivest the fall, Defying Time, dread leveller of all. FADED HOURS. BY J. R. SUTERMINSTER. _Ob. 1836: æt. 23._ Oh! for my bright and faded hours When life was like a summer stream, On whose gay banks the virgin flowers Blush'd in the morning's rosy beam; Or danced upon the breeze that bare Its store of rich perfume along, While the wood-robin pour'd on air The ravishing delights of song. The sun look'd from his lofty cloud, While flow'd its sparkling waters fair-- And went upon his pathway proud, And threw a brighter lustre there; And smiled upon the golden heaven, And on the earth's sweet loveliness, Where light, and joy, and song were given, The glad and fairy scene to bless!