We part-and had we never met,
Happy had it been for thee:-
My love has been thy bane-but yet
Oh! cease not to remember me!

My passion served but to encrease
The sorrows of a suffering lot-

To mar still more thy bosom's peace ;-
But still, oh! still-forget me not!

III.

WRITTEN ON A BLANK leaf of LALLA ROOKH.

1.

DEAREST, I doubly taste with thee

The charms of this sweet minstrelsy !—

O'er these wild numbers I have felt

My very soul within me melt,

To sit by thy side and hang with thee

On the beauties of each entrancing line;

Then gaze on thy speaking eye, and see

How thy thoughts and thy feelings mingle with mine.

Oh! I have seen that full eye flash

Beneath its long and silken lash,

Its living glance at once revealing

Each secret thought-each inmost feeling.

2.

And oh! when the bard has chanced to strike
That chord which is felt by both alike;-
When we have come to those moving parts
Which strike so home to both our hearts ;-
Those lays-alas! too real-which weep
The misery of a lot like ours—

We have known a feeling far too deep,

To be raised alone by Poetry's powers:

They serve but to goad within our breast
Thoughts which can never wholly rest;
We feel-but what I need not tell-
Alas! you only know too well!

IV.

HER NAME.

"The magic of a name."-CAMPBELL.

BEATS there the heart which does not bound,
With a trembling thrill, at the holy sound
Of a name beloved-which does not swell
As it drinks a note which it loves so well?

Tho' years may have past since we last have heard
From stranger lips the well-known word,

Yet, pronounced by chance, it awakens the ear,
And the soul delightedly turns to hear.

That word is breathed in a softer tone,

And possesses a music not its own;

And the letters which speak that name to the eye, Appear to combine more gracefully!

When we utter their name, the absent are near ;
The beloved themselves become more dear-
And the dead, at that heart-dwelling sound, will be
In more vivid and instant memory.

Oh! a name beloved becomes a part
Of the dearest feelings of every heart→
And until the heart itself shall decay,
That feeling will never pass away!

V.

TO HER CHILD.

1.

SWEET infant, smile again-although
I may not claim that look of thine-
My soul, alas! can never know

The touching joy to call thee mine. Yet, when I've seen that sinless smile, I've felt my heart grow light the whileThe evil passions of my breast

Have then been almost charmed to rest.

2.

Oh! may the beams of that full blue eye,
Which now repose so placidly,

Never flash forth the unhallowed fire
Of wrath of hatred-envy-ire:

And may that calm unsullied brow,

So clear, so pure, so stainless now,
Be always thus-nor ever bear

One trace of sorrow furrowed there!

3.

Oh! how I covet that soft thrill

Of hallowed pleasure, which will fill
Thy mother's soul, when she shall trace
Nascent expression in thy face-
When first thy kindling eye shall shew
Thy little heart hath learned to know
Thy mother; and thy smile, revealing
The earliest touch of tender feeling,

Shall add the power of dawning sense

To the charm of infant innocence!

And, more than all, when thy tongue shall try
To lisp its first words falteringly,

And syllable the sound most dear,
Most hallowed, to a mother's ear—
Sweeter to her than the dying notes

Of music, which over the water floats,

Or the heavenly strain when the winds give tone

To the harp that speaks by them alone.

Is there on earth an equal bliss ?—

No! there's none so perfect-so pure as this!

4.

Yes! dearest infant, smile again,

And stretch thy little arms towards me,

And fondly look on me, for then

I almost dream that thou must be

His, who thus loves thee doatingly!—
Whose very
heart of hearts caresses thee-
Whose soul's most fervent feeling blesses thee-
Who'd give that soul itself, if aught

Could make thee really his-but, no-
I must control that maddening thought-
Alas! it never can be so!

GHOST STORIES.-No. III.

Of the three relations, which follow, the two first are derived from sources so authentic, that I communicate them with as much confidence as if they had been actually received from the parties to whom the events seve

rally occurred of the third, the author can only say, with Sir Walter Scott,

"I know not how the truth may be ;

But tell the tale as told to me."

It is not many years ago, since Mr.

, accom

panied some friends on a visit to York cathedral. The party was numerous; and amongst them were a gentleman and his two daughters. Mr.

'was with

the eldest of these ladies, exploring the curiosities of the building, rather at a distance from the rest of their companions. On turning from the monument to which their attention had been directed, an officer in a naval uniform was observed advancing towards them. It was rather an unusual circumstance to encounter a person thus accoutred, in a place so far distant from the sea, and of so unmilitary a character. Mr. was on the point of making a trivial observation on the subject to his companion; when, on his turning his eyes towards her, and pointing out the approaching stranger to her notice, he saw an immediate paleness spread itself over her face, and her countenance become agitated by the force of the powerful and contending emotions which were suddenly excited by his presence. As the stranger drew more near, and his figure and his features gradually became more distinctly visible, through the evening gloom and the dim religious light of the cathedral, the lady's distress was evidently increased. She leant on the arm of Mr. with the weight of one who was painfully afflicted, and felt the necessity of support.

* In the manuscript of the writer of these stories, the name was, as in the former ones, given at length; but while the sheet was passing through the press, a friend of the party stated to the publisher that making public the names would distress the feelings of more than one individual:-they are therefore withheld. ED.