Volume 4 — GONDOLETTAS.

Far out in the moonlight how softly we glide! Scarce knowing, scarce heeding the lapse of the tide. I watch the light shadows steal over thy face, And pillow thy head in a last, long embrace. Thy heart keeps low music still beating to mine, Thy white arms around me I slowly entwine— I part the wild tresses that shroud thy pale cheek, I kiss thee—I clasp thee—no word dare I speak. Alas! that star-light should fade from the sky! Alas for the parting that draweth so nigh! Glide slowly—ye ripples—flow softly, oh tide! For the silence of death, must the living divide.

Again, but alone, I am out on the sea— I come, where so often I floated with thee; I list for the tones of thy low evening hymn— But the breeze hath a moan—and the starlight is dim. I think of thee here, of thy deep mournful eyes, That spoke to my own in mute, thrilling replies; Of thy gentle caress, and thy cold brow, so pale, When I pressed that last kiss—but I utter no wail! I garner in silence the memories of years, With yearnings too tender, too hopeless for tears; For down 'neath the stillness and hush of its waves, The tide of my life, like the sea, hath its graves!