Fraught with holy vows of truth:
Not a single thought of sadness
Shadowing o'er the hopes of youth.

I am sitting sad and lonely
Where she often sat with me,
And the voice I hear is only
Of the silvery streamlet's glee.

Where is she, whose gentle fingers,
Oft were wreathed amidst my hair?
Still methinks their pressure lingers,
But, ah no! they are not there.

They are whiter now than ever,
In a light I know not of,
Sweeping o'er the chords of silver
To a song of joy and love.

Though so lonely I am sitting,
This sweet thought of joy may bring,
That she still is round me flitting,
On an angel's tireless wing.

* * * * *

THE AUTHOR OF "ION."


"Mr. Talfourd is now a Justice, and we find in the London journals an