BENE

ENEATH the gold acacia buds
My gentle Nora sits and broods,

Far, far away in Boston woods,

My gentle Nora!

I see the tear-drop in her e'e,
Her bosom's heaving tenderly;

I know I know she thinks of me,

My darling Nora!

And where am I? My love, whilst thou
Sitt'st sad beneath the acacia bough,

Where pearl's on neck, and wreath on brow,

I stand, my Nora!

Mid carcanet and coronet,

Where joy-lamps shine and flowers are setWhere England's chivalry are met,

Behold me, Nora!

In this strange scene of revelry,
Amidst this gorgeous chivalry,
A form I saw was like to thee,

My love, my Nora!

She paused amidst her converse glad;
The lady saw that I was sad,

She pitied the poor lonely lad,—

Dost love her, Nora ?

In sooth, she is a lovely dame,

A lip of red, and eye of flame,

And clustering golden locks, the same,

As thine, dear Nora!

Her glance is softer than the dawn's,
Her foot is lighter than the fawn's,
Her breast is whiter than the swan's,

Or thine, my Nora!

Oh, gentle breast to pity me!

Oh, lovely Ladye Emily!

Till death-till death I'll think of thee

Of thee and Nora!

I

SEEM, in the midst of the crowd,
The lightest of all;

My laughter rings cheery and loud

In banquet and ball.

My lip hath its smiles and its sneers,

For all men to see;

Around me they flatter and fawn—
The young and the old,

The fairest are ready to pawn
Their hearts for my gold.

They sue me-I laugh as I spurn

The slaves at my knee;

But in faith and in fondness I turn Unto thee, unto thee!

Now

The faithful night keeps watch and ward,
Raising the moon her silver shield,
And summoning the stars to guard
The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!