IONE.

Sad are the glances from thy deep blue eyes,

Ione,

Soft as the mirror of the summer skies

When twilight shadows o'er its surface steal,

And twinkling stars their radiant orbs reveal!

Why are they sad

Which were so glad,

Ione?

Have their rays bathed in dew-drops‘ mid the air,

And still the sparkling moisture trembles there?

Then, smile, for dewy tears

Melt when the sun appears,

Ione!

Yet thou art very beautiful in sadness,

Ione!

More beautiful e'en than in gladness,

And the sweet music of thy gentle sighs

Comes like the language of thy speaking eyes;

What do they say?

Tell me their lay,

Ione!

Fain would I learn from thee what passing thought

Can with such plaintive melody be fraught —

Ah! wherefore turn away,

Stay, yet a little stay,

Ione!