And now, with soft and silent pace,

They walk as in a dream,

While each bright earth-flower hides its face

Of blushes, in their dim embrace.

Men say, that in this midnight hour,
The disembodied have power

To wander as it liketh them,

By wizard oak and fairy stream—
Through still and solemn places,

And by old walls and tombs, to dream,
With pale, cold mournful faces.
I fear them not; for they must be
Spirits of kindest sympathy,

Who choose such haunts, and joy to feel

The beauties of this calm night steal

Like music o'er them, while they wooed

The luxury of Solitude.

Welcome, ye gentle spirits! then,

Who love and feel for earth-chained men—

Who, in this hour, delight to dwell

By moss-clad oak and dripping cell

Who joy to haunt each age-dimmed spot, Which ruder natures have forgot;

And, in majestic solitude,

Feel every pulse-stroke thrill of good

To all around, below, above;—

Ye are the co-mates whom I love!

While, lingering in this moonshine glade,
I dream of hopes that cannot fade;
And pour abroad those phantasies
That spring from holiest sympathies
With Nature's moods, in this glad hour
Of silence, moonshine, beauty, power,
When the busy stir of man is gone,

And the soul is left with its God alone!

The Water! the Water!

Where I have shed salt tears,

In loneliness and friendlessness,
A thing of tender years.

The Water! the Water!

Where I have happy been,

And showered upon its bosom flowers
Culled from each meadow green,

And idly hoped my life would be
So crowned by love's idolatry.

The Water! the Water!

My heart yet burns to think

How cool thy fountain sparkled forth,

For parched lip to drink.

The Water! the Water!

Of mine own native glen;

The gladsome tongue I oft have heard,

But ne'er shall hear again;

Though fancy fills my ear for aye

With sounds that live so far away!

The Water! the Water!

The mild and glassy wave,

Upon whose broomy banks I've longed To find my silent grave.

The Water! the Water!

Oh bless'd to me thou art;

Thus sounding in life's solitude,

The music of my heart,

And filling it, despite of sadness,

With dreamings of departed gladness.

The Water! the Water!

The mournful pensive tone,

That whispered to my heart how soon This weary life was done.

The Water! the Water!

That rolled so bright and free,

And bade me mark how beautiful

Was its soul's purity;

And how it glanced to heaven its wave,

As wandering on it sought its grave.

H

THREE FANCIFUL SUPPOSES.

WERE I a breath of viewless wind, As very spirits be,

Where would I joy at length to find I was no longer free?

Oh, Margaret's cheek,

Whose blushes speak

Love's purest sympathies,

Would be the site,

Where gleaming bright,

My prison-dome should rise: I'd live upon that rosy shore, And fan it with soft sighs,

Nor other paradise explore

Beneath the skies.