HER VIOLIN.

Her violin!— Again begin

The dream-notes of her violin;

And dim and fair, with gold-brown hair,

I seem to see her standing there,

Soft-eyed and sweetly slender:

The room again, with strain on strain,

Vibrates to LOVE's melodious pain,

As, sloping slow, is poised her bow,

While round her form the golden glow

Of sunset spills its splendour.

Her violin!— now deep, now thin,

Again I hear her violin;

And, dream by dream, again I seem

To see the love-light's tender gleam

Beneath her eyes’ long lashes:

While to my heart she seems a part

Of her pure song's inspired art;

And, as she plays, the rosy grays

Of twilight halo hair and face,

While sunset burns to ashes.

O violin!— Cease, cease within

My soul, O haunting violin!

In vain, in vain, you bring again

Back from the past the blissful pain

Of all the love then spoken;

When on my breast, at happy rest,

A sunny while her head was pressed —

Peace, peace to these wild memories!

For, like my heart naught remedies,

Her violin lies broken.