REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.

REMIND me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quick thy fluttering heart did move
see thee yet,

Oh! by my soul,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.

When thus reclining on my breast,

Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,
As half reproach'd yet raised desire,

And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.

And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Scem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,

Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam In rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,

Till thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless, as the mouldering stone
Which tells that we shall be no more.

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.

THERE was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.

And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,

None, none hath sunk so deep as this-
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone.

And yet my heart some solace knew
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,

Remembrance of the days that were.

Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.

Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?

AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:

Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-
I would not give that bosom pain.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,

My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of

peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:

And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady blessed be that tear—

It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repinc.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-
I would not give that bosom pain.16

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.

A SONG.

FILL the goblet again! for I never before

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;
Let us drink!-who would not?-since, through life's varied

round,

In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;

I have loved !-who has not?-but what heart can declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that affection can never take wing,

I had friends!-who has not?-but what tongue will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,

Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never can'st change;

Thou grow'st old-who does not?-but on earth what appears,

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,

We are jealous!-who's not ?-thou hast no such alloy;
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

Then the season of youth and its vanities past,

For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

There we find-do we not ?-in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left,- —was she not?—but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:

We must die-who shall not?-May our sins be forgiven,
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven.

STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING ENGLAND.17

'TIS done-and shivering in the gale

The bark unfurls her snowy sail;

And whistling o'er the bending mast,

Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast;

And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.

But could I be what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen-
Could I repose upon the breast

Which once my warmest wishes blest―
I should not seek another zone
Because I cannot love but one.

'Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again :
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.

As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;

I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.

And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,

I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.

The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where friendship's or love's softer glow
May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.

I go-but wheresoe'er I flee
There's not an eye will weep for me;
There's not a kind congenial heart,
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.