I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek, And her lip so full and bright, And I sighed to think that the traitor love, Should conquer a heart so light: But she thought not of future days of wo, While she carroled in tones so gay; "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart, Can charm but for a day." A year passed on, and again I stood By the humble cottage-door; The maid sat at her busy wheel, But her look was blithe no more: The big tear stood in her downcast eye, And with sighs I heard her say, "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart, Can charm but for a day." Oh! well I knew what had dimmed her eye, And made her cheek so pale; The maid had forgotten her early song, While she listened to love's soft tale. She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup, It had wasted her life away: And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, Had charmed but for a day. FORGETFULNESS. BY MISS ELIZABETH S. BOGART. We parted--friendship's dream had cast Deep interest o'er the brief farewell, And left upon the shadowy past Full many a thought on which to dwell. Such thoughts as come in early youth, And live in fellowship with hope; Robed in the brilliant hues of truth, Unfitted with the world to cope. We parted--he went o'er the sea, And deeper solitude was mine; Yet there remained in memory, For feeling, still a sacred shrine. And thought and hope were offered up Till their ethereal essence fled, And disappointment, from the cup, Its dark libations poured, instead. We parted--'twas an idle dream That _thus_ we e'er should meet again; For who that knew man's heart, would deem That it could long unchanged remain. He sought a foreign clime, and learned Another language, which expressed To strangers the rich thoughts that burned With unquenched power within his breast. And soon he better loved to speak In those new accents than his own; His native tongue seemed cold and weak, To breathe the wakened passions' tone. He wandered far, and lingered long, And drank so deep of Lethe's stream, That each new feeling grew more strong, And all the past was like a dream. We met--a few glad words were spoken, A few kind glances were exchanged; But friendship's first romance was broken, His had been from me estranged. I felt it all--we met no more-- My heart was true, but it was proud; Life's early confidence was o'er, And hope had set beneath a cloud. We met no more--for neither sought To reunite the severed chain Of social intercourse; for nought Could join its parted links again. Too much of the wide world had been Between us for too long a time; And he had looked on many a scene, The beautiful and the sublime.