My song can make her pause,
  But wake and doff that frown,
Nor man’s, nor God’s great laws,
  Forbid thee to look down: 
    My lady, lady, wake,
    Wake, oh! wake.

THE OLD MILL WHEEL.

The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns
  Throughout the livelong day,
And flings the current of the stream,
  Abroad in glist’ning spray: 
That old, black wheel has turn’d for years,
  Beside the mossy mill,
That stands, like some old, sacred thing,
  Beneath the clay-red hill.

The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns
  Like time’s unresting one,
Which day and night, and night and day,
  Hath never ceased to run: 
The old mill-wheel, an emblem true,
  Of Time that ne’er stands still,
I love to see it turning so,
  Beside the mossy mill.

The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns,
  As in my childhood’s hour;—­
As when I bathed beneath its rim,
  In its refreshing shower: 
But they who were my comrades then,
  Are sleeping on the hill,
And now, to them, forever now,
  The old Mill-wheel stands still.

SERENADE.

How sombre is the gloom! 
  I see no beam of star,
Gleam o’er the garden’s bloom,
  Or silent wood afar;
So dark the thoughts which shroud
  His soul who sings to thee;
Oh lady, cold and proud;
  Who scorn’st to think on me;
    Lady, lady, wake! 
    List oh! list.

The firefly lights the night,
  A moment and then dies;
The lilacs pine for light,
  With sweet and odorous sighs: 
So Hope’s deceitful beam,
  Illumines my despair,
While I still sigh and dream,
  With many a sobbing prayer,
    Lady, lady, list! 
    List and smile!

Lo! now the clouds break off,
  And heaven once more is free;
The mounts their garments doff,
  The mists rise from the sea;
From yonder casement high
  She looks, she looks, oh see! 
She bends on me her eye
  Of heavenly brilliancy: 
    Lady, lady, dear;
    Lady dear!

VIRGINIA HOME OF HONOR.

Oh, home of honor, native land,
  When roaming o’er the sea,
The eye still turns, the heart still yearns,
  O dearest home, for thee. 
When ranged around the social board,
  We bid our sorrows flee,
We own a pride that we are sons,
  O dearest home, of thee.

If earth retains one single draught
  Of pure and tranquil joy,
Within whose sweet and sparkling wave,
  Is mixt no sad alloy;
’Tis here we taste it while we sit,
  Beneath our natal tree,
’Tis here it glads our heart of hearts,
  O dearest home, with thee.

When we are cast on foreign shores,
  Beyond the dark-blue sea,
Sad memory oft returns to weep,
  O dearest home, with thee,
And when the knell of death shall come,
  And set our spirits free,
Our hearts shall find their sweetest rest,
  O dearest home, with thee.