Are there not angels to guard us and keep?
Are spirits _not_ round us hidden from sight?
Oh! angels and spirits were all asleep,
Or they must have warn'd me that fatal night.

I have wak'd with the thought of an absent friend
(And others I know who have done the same),
And have felt 'ere I see the daylight's end,
Her letter must come--and her letter came.
I have run indoors with the happy thought
That something pleasant was going to be,
And--coincidence strange!--my eye has caught
The sight of the thing it desired to see.

I have felt a depression all the day,
A dullness for which I could not account,
And a flower has died--a dog run away--
Or a horse gone lame that I wish'd to mount.

And if from the regions of mysteries
_Something_ can warn us of trifles like these;
How could it be I met Mr. Devize
With a smiling face and a heart at ease?

No dream at night, when by wonderful laws
The bodies are dead, the spirits alive;
No little heart--sinking without a cause
When the perfect sunshine made nature thrive;
No omen or signal, little or great,
Not a quicken'd pulse or a flutter'd breath;--