My Soul, like the fleet horse of Yemen,
  Flew chainless o’er mountain and plain,
Till she paused by the flower-scented ocean,
  Then returned on her pinions, again.

In that beautiful world, in that Yemen,
  My Soul lately wandered in bliss;
Till she found there a glorious maiden,
  She vainly had sighed for, in this.

Then my Soul walked far with this maiden—­
  In this beautiful region of gold,
And died on the love-burdened accents,
  From the fount of her bosom that rolled.

Oh Yemen! whose name is the Happy,
  Whose mountains are fragrant with bloom—­
My Soul met her Consort there lately—­
  And now she says nothing of gloom.

LILLY:  A POEM.

The May sun sheds an amber beam,
    Upon the river’s liquid plain,
But never to that glorious gleam,
    Her eyes will ope again: 
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.

We look across the landscape wide,
    Where spring bemocks the thought of pain,
And scatters charms with lavish pride;—­
    The vernal joy is all in vain: 
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.

The summer breezes lightly lift
    The clustered flowers oppressed with rain,
Which fleecy cloud-sieves downward sift,—­
    It falls on Lilly’s form in vain: 
Sweet Lilly, come again,
Sweet Lilly, come again.

Oh! can the glory of the year,
    The Spring that decks the widening plain,
Thus strive to make the maid appear,
    But yield the hopeless task in vain: 
Sweet Lilly, come again;
Sweet Lilly, come again.

Silence!—­where brighter May suns beam,
    On greener hills and vales,
Bright Lilly walks, as in a dream,
    Fann’d by celestial gales:—­
Now, Lill! come not again! 
Now, Lill! come not again.

ADIEU TO EMORY.

Adieu to thee, Emory! adieu to thee now! 
There is grief in my spirit, there’s gloom on my brow,
I have left the sweet scenes where I knelt at thy shrine,
O Learning! thy wreath with my name to entwine.

Adieu to the scenes where, when study was o’er,
And the toil of the mind was remembered no more;
I roamed o’er the mountains, forgetful, afar,
’Neath the light of the beautiful Evening Star.

Like the light of that star—­like a splendor on high—­
Like a Heavenly Dream that was born in the sky—­
Bright Poesy burst on my pathway even there,
And a rainbow of Beauty encircled the air.

Ah! she shone with a brilliance more dazzling and strong,
Than e’er to a child of the earth could belong;
And her pinions that waved through the rose-scented air,
Had a tint that was brighter than thought can declare.

Yet adieu to thee, Emory,—­thy scenes I regret;
In a far distant scene, I may think of them yet;
Fond Fancy may roam o’er thy mountains again,
And love them as freshly and warmly as then.