Beneath the sun’s meridian ray,
  They’ll fade and leave no trace behind: 
The love they woke shall ne’er decay,
  But be immortal like the Mind.

THE WIFE TO THE ABSENT HUSBAND.

Come back to me, my absent friend! 
  Since thou wast far away,
The vernal flowers have lost some charms,
  Less bright the vernal day. 
The wild, sweet voices of the fields;
  Of birds amid the sky;
Of streams that wander through the wood,
  With dreamy melody;
Sound not so sweet—­and shine less bright,
  Unto my pensive soul,
Since thou wentest forth, O dearest friend,
  To brook the world’s control.

Come back to me! come back to me! 
  Let not the dream of fame,
Too long allure thy lingering feet
  To worship at a name.

Yet, I would have thee nobly strive
  To win that glorious meed,
But still, of Woman’s saving love,
  Hast thou not urgent need?

Come back to me! come back to me! 
  Thou never yet hast known,
How lone and desolate I feel
  When left, by thee, alone.

The dove without her loving mate,
  Repeats a song like mine—­
Thus seems, o’er sad, neglected love,
  To murmur and repine.

Come back to me—­oh! quickly come! 
  The joy that I shall know
Will more than pay for all this depth
  Of dark and bitter woe,

Which thou hast doomed my heart to feel
  Through many a weary day;
And I will then forgive thy fault,
  In lingering thus away.

OH, BLUE-EYED MAID, I SIGH FOR THEE.

Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee,
  A gentle twilight’s close,
When music dies upon the lea,
  And dew drops wet the rose. 
I look on tranquil nature round,
  And list to music’s fall,
And think but half their charms are found,
  Since thou art far from all.

Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beams
  That light a monarch’s hall,
The glittering wealth of golden streams,
  To me were darkness all;
Unless thy light of loveliness,
  Adorned the regal scene,
And thou bedecked in royal dress,
  Shouldst reign my loving Queen.

TO MARY.

Oh, Mary, when afar from thee,
  And mountains rise between,
And I am wandering pensively
  Through many a varied scene;

It soothes to bid my fancy stray,
  On freest wings, to thee,
And cherish all the memories
  So very dear to me.

I view again thy face, thy form,
  Thy look, thy ready smile,
I hear again those magic words,
  That all my soul beguile.

I sit beside thy chair, and gaze,
  Upon thy willing face,
And there behold the speaking glow
  Of that mysterious grace,

Which binds my constant soul to thee,
  And makes, through all life’s years,
All that can make thy heart rejoice,
  Or bathe thy cheek with tears,