AT THE LYCEUM.

HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat

Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen

The dust of this devouring flame she hath

Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet

In days that were, her sultry beauty now

Is pain transfigured, love's impenitence,

The memory of a maiden innocence,

As a crown set upon a weary brow.

She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;

She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,

Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet

For love's fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries

“My heart is dead!” with what a wild regret

Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!