Always to remain beside thee Was the aim of each endeavour; Everything that gave thee pleasure, To accomplish sought I ever. I enjoy’d what thou didst relish, Neither would I touch the dishes Thou didst hate, and even smoking I commenced, to meet thy wishes. Many a funny Polish story That thy merriment excited, In a strange and Jewish accent To repeat I then delighted. Yes, then long’d I to approach thee, Leave my foreign habitation, And beside thy fortune’s fireplace Take for evermore my station. Golden wishes! mere soap bubbles! Like my life they all have vanish’d; On the ground I now am lying, Crush’d for ever, hopeless, banish’d. Fare ye well, ye golden wishes Where my darling hopes once centred! Ah! the blow was far too deadly That my inmost heart has enter’d. 12. THE ANNIVERSARY. Not one mass will e’er be chanted, Not one Hebrew prayer be mutter’d, When the day I died returneth,-- Nothing will be sung or utter’d. Yet upon that day, it may be, If the weather has not chill’d her, On a visit to Montmartre With Pauline will go Matilda. With a wreath of immortelles she’ll Deck my grave in foreign fashion, Sighing say “_pauvre homme!_” and sadly Drop a tear of fond compassion. I shall then too high be dwelling, And, alas! no chair have ready For my darling’s use to offer, As she walks with foot unsteady. Sweet, stout little one, return not Home on foot, I must implore thee; At the barrier gate is standing A fiacre all ready for thee. 13. MEETING AGAIN. One summer eve, in the woodbine bower We sat once more at the window lonely; The moon arose with life-giving power, But we appear’d two spectres only. Twelve years had pass’d since the last occasion When we on this spot had sat together; Each tender glow, each loving persuasion Had meanwhile been quench’d in life’s rough weather. I silently sat. The woman, however, Just like her sex, amongst love’s ashes Must needs be raking, but vain her endeavour To kindle again its long-quench’d flashes. And she recounted how she had contended With evil thoughts, the story disclosing How hardly she once her virtue defended,-- I stupidly listened to all her prosing. When homeward I rode, the trees beside me Like spirits beneath the moon’s rays flitted; Sad voices call’d, but onward I hied me, Yes, I and the dead, who my side ne’er quitted. 14. MRS. CARE. When fortune on me shed her ray, The gnats around me danced all day, Plenty of friends then cherish’d me, And all, in fashion brotherly, My viands with me tasted, And my last penny wasted.