The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest; Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep; Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest, And weary Venus pales into the deep, These two with tender shining mock my woe From out the distant heaven of long ago. The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam! Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light! Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight? For could you shine as once you shone before, The stars might hide their rays for evermore! FADED FLOWERS. My love she sent a flower to me Of tender hue and fragrance rare, And with it came across the sea A letter kind as she was fair; But when her letter met mine eyes, The flower, the little flower, was dead: And ere I touched the tender prize The hues were dim, the fragrance fled. I sent my love a letter too, In happy hope no more to roam; I bade her bless the vessel true Whose gallant sails should waft me home. But ere my letter reach'd her hand, My love, my little love, was dead, And when the vessel touch'd the land, Fair hope for evermore had fled. SPEED WELL. What time I left my native land, And bade farewell to my true love, She laid a flower in my hand As azure as the sky above. "Speed thee well! Speed well!" She softly whispered, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!" Its tender hue is bright and pure, As heav'n through summer clouds doth show, A pledge though clouds thy way obscure, It shall not be for ever so. "Speed thee well! Speed well!" She softly whisper'd, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!" And as I toil through help and harm, And whilst on alien shores I dwell, I wear this flower as a charm, My heart repeats that tender spell: "Speed thee well! Speed well!" It softly whispers, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!" HOW MANY YEARS AGO? How many years ago, love, Since you came courting me? Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea, With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay, And mostly not a word to say,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago? How many years ago, love, Since you to Father spoke? Between your lips a sprig of oak: You were not one with much to say, But Mother spoke for you that day,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago?