May he who claims thy tender heart,
Deserve its love as I have done!
For, kind and gentle as thou art,
If so beloved, thou 'rt fairly won.
Bright may the sacred torch remain,
And cheer thee till we meet again!


[5] These lines were addressed by Mrs Hunter to her daughter, on the
occasion of her marriage.




THE LOT OF THOUSANDS.


When hope lies dead within the heart,
By secret sorrow close conceal'd,
We shrink lest looks or words impart
What must not be reveal'd.

'Tis hard to smile when one would weep,
To speak when one would silent be;
To wake when one should wish to sleep,
And wake to agony.

Yet such the lot by thousands cast,
Who wander in this world of care,