A superstitious horoscope! And still, though something in her face Portended 'No!' with such a grace It burthen'd me with thankfulness, Nothing was credible but 'Yes.' Therefore, through time's close pressure bold, I praised myself, and boastful told My deeds at Acre; strain'd the chance I had of honour and advance In war to come; and would not see Sad silence meant, 'What's this to me?' When half my precious hour was gone, She rose to meet a Mr. Vaughan; And, as the image of the moon Breaks up, within some still lagoon That feels the soft wind suddenly, Or tide fresh flowing from the sea, And turns to giddy flames that go Over the water to and fro, Thus, when he took her hand to-night, Her lovely gravity of light Was scatter'd into many smiles And flatting weakness. Hope beguiles No more my heart, dear Mother. He, By jealous looks, o'erhonour'd me. With nought to do, and fondly fain To hear her singing once again, I stay'd, and turn'd her music o'er; Then came she with me to the door. 'Dearest Honoria,' I said, (By my despair familiar made,) 'Heaven bless you!' Oh, to have back then stepp'd And fallen upon her neck, and wept, And said, 'My friend, I owe you all I am, and have, and hope for. Call For some poor service; let me prove To you, or him here whom you love, My duty. Any solemn task, For life's whole course, is all I ask!' Then she must surely have wept too, And said, 'My friend, what can you do!' And I should have replied, 'I'll pray 'For you and him three times a-day, And, all day, morning, noon, and night, My life shall be so high and right That never Saint yet scaled the stairs Of heaven with more availing prayers!' But this (and, as good God shall bless Somehow my end, I'll do no less,) I had no right to speak. Oh, shame, So rich a love, so poor a claim! My Mother, now my only friend, Farewell. The school-books which you send I shall not want, and so return. Give them away, or sell, or burn. I'll write from Malta. Would I might But be your little Child to-night, And feel your arms about me fold, Against this loneliness and cold! VI. FROM MRS. GRAHAM.