For Me.

I heard her song,
Low in the night,
From out her casement steal away,
Nor thought it wrong
To steal a sight
Of her--and lo! she knelt to pray.

I heard her say,
"Forgive him, Lord;
Such as he seems he cannot be."
I turned away,
Myself abhorred.
She prayed--and oh! she prayed for me.




To a Water-color.

Sweet Phyllis, maid of yesterday,
Come down from out that frame,
And tell me why you looked so gay--
Likewise your other name.

Had bold Sir Plume confessed his love
And asked you if you'd wed?
And had he called you "Lovey-dove"?
And how long are you dead?