To ---

Oh, turn those eyes away from me! Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays; And though they beam so tenderly, I feel, I tremble 'neath their gaze. Oh, turn those eyes away! for though To meet their glance I may not dare, I know their light is on my brow, By the warm blood that mantles there.

SONG.

Yet once again, but once, before we sever, Fill we one brimming cup,--it is the last! And let those lips, now parting, and for ever, Breathe o'er this pledge, "the memory of the past!"

Joy's fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast, Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfilled with sorrow, Lives one sweet drop,--the memory of the past.

But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last; But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining, Now farewell all, save memory of the past.

LAMENT FOR ISRAEL.

Where is thy home in thy promised land? Desolate and forsaken! The stranger's arm hath seized thy brand, Thou art bowed beneath the stranger's hand, And the stranger thy birthright hath taken.

Where is the mark of thy chosen race? Infamous and degraded! It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place, And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace And the scoff of the world, has faded.

First-born of nations! upon thy brow, Resistless and revenging, The fiery finger of God hath now Written the sentence of thy wo, The innocent blood avenging!

Lion of Judah! thy glory is past, Vanished and fled for ever. Homeless and scattered, thy race is cast Like chaff in the breath of the sweeping blast, To rally or rise again, never!

A WISH.

Let me not die for ever, when I'm gone To the cold earth! but let my memory Live like the gorgeous western light that shone Over the clouds where sank day's majesty. Let me not be forgotten! though the grave Has clasped its hideous arms around my brow. Let me not be forgotten! though the wave Of time's dark current rolls above me now. Yet not in tears remembered be my name; Weep over those ye loved; for me, for me, Give me the wreath of glory, and let fame Over my tomb spread immortality!

SONG.

The moment must come, when the hands that unite In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever; When the eyes that have beamed o'er us brightly to-night, Will have ceased to shine o'er us, for ever. Yet wreathe again the goblet's brim With pleasure's roseate crown! What though the future hour be dim-- The present is our own!

The moment is come, and again we are parting, To roam through the world, each our separate way; In the bright eye of beauty the pearl-drop is starting, But hope, sunny hope, through the tear sheds its ray. Then wreathe again the goblet's brim With pleasure's roseate crown! What though the present hour be dim-- The future's yet our own!

The moment is past, and the bright throng that round us So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream; And time has untwisted the fond links that bound us, Like frost wreaths that melt in the morning's first beam. Still wreathe once more the goblet's brim! With pleasure's roseate crown! What though all else beside be dim-- The past has been our own!