the grave I live!”
    Tophet!  I thrill! for scorn’d
    Was the sere thought, though warn’d
  Ofttimes that Death, enclos’d that dread abyss! 
    Now, by each burning vein
    And venom’d conscience—­pain
  I know the terrors of that world, in this!

    Heaven! ay, ’tis in Death
    For him, whose fragile breath
  Wends from a breast of piety and peace,
    But darkness, chains, and dree
    Eternal, are for me
  Since Death’s tremendous myst’ries never cease!

M.L.B.

* * * * *

TO JUDY.

(For the Mirror.)

  I have thought of you much since we parted,
    And wished for you every day,
  And often the sad tear has started,
    And often I’ve brush’d it away;
  When the thought of thy sweet smile come o’er me
    Like a sunbeam the tempest between,
  And the hope of thy love shone before me
    So brilliantly bright and serene,
  I remember thy last vow that made me
    Forget all my sorrow and care,
  And I think of the dear voice that bade me
    Awake from the dream of despair.

  I regard not the gay scene around me,
    The smiles of the young and the free,
  Have not now the soft charm that once bound me. 
    For that hath been broken by thee;
  And tho’ voices, dear voices are teeming,
    With friendship and gladness, and wit,
  And a welcome from bright eyes is beaming,
    I cannot, I cannot, forget—­
  I may join in the dance and the song,
    And laugh with the witty and gay,
  Yet the heart and best feelings that throng
    Around it, are far, far away.

  Dost remember the scene we last traced, love,
    When the smile from night’s radiant queen
  Beamed bright o’er the valley, and chased love
    The spirit of gloom from the scene? 
  And the riv’let how heedless it rushed, love,
    From its home in the mountain away,
  And the wild rose how faintly it blush’d, love,
    In the light of the moon’s silver ray: 
  Oh, that streamlet was like unto me,
    Parting from whence its brightness first sprung,
  And that sweet rose was the emblem of thee,
    As so pale on my bosom you hung.

  Dearest, why did I leave thee behind me,
    Oh! why did I leave thee at all,
  Ev’ry day that dawns, only can find me
    In sorrow, and tho’ the sweet thrall
  Of my heart serves to cheer and to check me
    When sorrow or passion have sway,
  Yet I’d rather have thee to hen-peck[1] me,
    Than be from thy bower away;
  And, dear Judy, I’m still what you found me,
    When we met in the grove by the rill,
  I forget not the spell that first bound me,
    And I shall not, till feeling be still.

F. BERINGTON.