1830-40.] WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE. 229 "What guerdon Boone would have?" — then answer thus : "A little wilderness left sacred there For him to die in ; else the poor old man Must seek that lonely sea whose billows turn To mournful music on the Oregon, And in its desolate waters find a grave." So — but I was not made for talk — Fare- well! AVELINE— A SONG. LoYE me dearly> love me dearly with your heart and with your eyes ; Whisper all your sweet emotions, as they gushing, blushing rise : Throw your soft white arms about me ; Say you cannot Uve without me : Say, you are my Aveline ; say, that you are only mine. That you cannot live without me, young and rosy Aveline ! Love me dearly, dearly, dearly : speak your love-words silver-clearly, So I may not doubt thus early of your fondness, of your truth. Press, oh ! press your throbbing bosom closely, warmly to my own : Fix your kindled eyes on mine — say you live for me alone. While I fix my eyes on thine, Lovely, trusting, artless, plighted; plighted, rosy Aveline ! Love me dearly; love me dearly: radiant dawn upon my gloom : Ravish me with beauty's bloom : — Tell me " Life has yet a glory : 'tis not all an idle story ! " As a gladdened vale in noonlight; as a weary lake in moonlight, Let me in thy love recline : Show me life has yet a splendor in my tender Aveline. Love me dearly, dearly, dearly with your heart and with your eyes : Whisper all your sweet emotions as they gushing, blushing rise. Throw your soft white arms around me ; say you lived not till you found me — Say it, say it, Aveline ! whisper you are only mine ; That you cannot live without me, as you throw your arms about me, That you cannot live without me, artless, rosy Aveline ! SONG OF A LEAF, FROM CLIFTY FAIXS, NEAR HANOVER COLLEGE. I. When plucked from off my natal bough, I would have sighed but that I knew The rifling one intended me As his sweet offering to you. To you who stood in youth beneath My parent-tree beside the Fall, Whose crystal trumpets still to crag And leaning cloud sonorous call. n. Ah, well I know why he would send The humble little leaf to thee — For still thy visits dwell within The memory of my parent-tree. That whispers oft of all those hours, Those innocent hours of woodland joy, Of friendship's clasp, of young love's tryst. When you were yet an ardent boy.
