Volume 1 — From The Month. EX HUMO. BY BARRY CORNWALL.

Should you dream ever of the days departed— Of youth and morning, no more to return— Forget not me, so fond and passionate-hearted; Quiet at last, reposing Under the moss and fern. There, where the fretful lake in stormy weather Comes circling round the reddening churchyard pines, Rest, and call back the hours we lost together, Talking of hope, and soaring Beyond poor earth's confines. If, for those heavenly dreams too dimly sighted, You became false—why, 'tis a story old: I, overcome by pain, and unrequited, Faded at last, and slumber Under the autumn mould. Farewell, farewell! No longer plighted lovers, Doomed for a day to sigh for sweet return: One lives, indeed; one heart the green earth covers— Quiet at last, reposing Under the moss and fern.