THE CONFESSIONAL. When thou hast met with careless hearts and cold, Remember me-remember me 1 passionately pray of thee! LADY E. S. WORTLEY. I THOUGHT of thee - I thought of thee, On ocean many a weary night – I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Are many as the leaves in June- Is pregnant with impassion'd thought, And song and dance and music are With one warm meaning fraught My half-snared heart broke lightly free, And, with a blush, I thought of thee. I thought of thee I thought of thee, In wonders of the deathless arts; On many an eve, and thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, when on the Palatine In Rome, -- Night left the Cæsars' palace free To Time's forgetful foot and mine; Or, on the Coliseum's wall, When moonlight touch'd the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all That o'er this scene has come and gone The shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously I thought of thee. I thought of thee - I thought of thee, Where nobles born the friars be By life's rude changes humbler made. And, as I closed my weary eyes, I thought the cowl would fit me wellThe cloisters breathed, it seem'd to me, Of heart's-ease but I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, And, as the black barks glided by, Bore back the lover's passing sigh It was no place alone to be - I thought of thee-I thought of thee. I thought of thee - I thought of thee, Old Homer's songs around me playing; Who sung the song that Sappho knewThe poet's spell, the bark, the sea, All vanish'd as I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, And heroes with it, one by one; I thought of thee-I thought of thee, In Asia on the Dardanelles ; Where swiftly as the waters flee, Each wave some sweet old story tells; And, seated by the marble tank Which sleeps by Ilium's ruins old, (The fount where peerless Helen drank, And Venus laved her locks of gold,) (b) I thrill'd such classic haunts to see, Yet even here I thought of thee I thought of thee I thought of thee, Where glide the Bosphor's lovely waters, All palace-lined from sea to sea; And ever on its shores the daughters Of the delicious East are seen, Printing the brink with slipper'd feet; And oh, the snowy folds between, What eyes of heaven your glances meet! Peris of light no fairer be— Yes in Stamboul - I thought of thee. Through change that teaches to forget; Thy face looks up from every sca, In every star thine eyes are set, Though roving beneath Orient skies, Whose golden beauty breathes of rest; I envy every bird that flies Into the far and clouded West: I think of thee--I think of thee! Oh, dearest! hast thou thought of me? THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING A GRAVE FOR A NEW-BORN CHILD. ROOм, gentle flowers! my child would pass to heaven! Ye look'd not for her yet with your soft eyes, O watchful ushers at Death's narrow door! But lo! while you delay to let her forth, Angels, beyond, stay for her! From lips all pale with agony, One long kiss and tears, Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire One look upon thy face e re thou depart! I knew not of And turning with strange tenderness to thee A love -oh, God! it seems so which must flow Far as thou fleest, and 'twixt heaven and me, |