o'er its waters forever.

JULIA (OR LOUISA MACARTNEY) CRAWFORD.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.

SUMMER.

The little gate was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and, as she past,
A wistful look she backward cast,
And said,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"
With hand on latch, a vision white
Lingered reluctant, and again
Half doubting if she did aright,
Soft as the dews that fell that night,
She said,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain;
Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,
Thinks she,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

'Tis thirteen years; once more I press
The turf that silences the lane;
I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and--ah, yes,
I hear,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!
The English words had seemed too fain,
But these--they drew us heart to heart,
Yet held us tenderly apart;
She said,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

PALINODE.

AUTUMN.

Still thirteen years: 't is autumn now
On field and hill, in heart and brain;
The naked trees at evening sough;
The leaf to the forsaken bough
Sighs not,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome,
That now is void, and dank with rain,
And one,--oh, hope more frail than foam!
The bird to his deserted home
Sings not,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

The loath gate swings with rusty creak;
Once, parting there, we played at pain;
There came a parting, when the weak
And fading lips essayed to speak
Vainly,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith,
Though thou in outer dark remain;
One sweet sad voice ennobles death,
And still, for eighteen centuries saith
Softly,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

If earth another grave must bear,
Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain,
And something whispers my despair,
That, from an orient chamber there,
Floats down,--"_Auf wiedersehen_!"

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

FAREWELL!--BUT WHENEVER.

Farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower.
Then think of the friend that once welcomed it too.
And forgot his own griefs, to be happy with you.
His griefs may return--not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain--
But he ne'er can forget the short vision that threw
Its enchantment around him while lingering wit