1850-60.] ALBERT BARNITZ. 683 Yes ! the grand old trees, long, sedate and sober, — Sedate, and grave, and gloomy ! Yes ! my thoughts take flight, through the dismal night, To the beautiful home, Irene, Forgetful, at length, of their life's Oc- Where, a stranger-guest, at the kind be- tober, hest Awhile grew gay and bloomy ! Of her whom the loveliest charms invest, For they answered low to the wooing I was welcomed to more than the tongue winds, confessed. In a soft melodious measure, Or my heart dared hope, Irene. Till, 'roused by the mirth of their whis- pered minds. Each leaf was a tremor of pleasure ! 0, the kind regard which the fair award, I can never forget, Irene ! How happy were we on this upland- And a nameless spell, like the mystic kneU level ! — On this shadowy upland-lawn ! When youthful and free we delighted to revel — Myself and my dark-eyed fawn ! Ah ! many and many a lonesome day. Have I passed, since my gleeful child- hood! And repent now, that ever I came away From this shadowy upland-wildwood ! Which is born in the breast of the ocean- shell, From the innermost depths of my heart will swell With the memory of thee, Irene ! And beaming afar, like a rising star, Is the Artist's hope, Irene ! Through the lonely night, while its rays invite, I will struggle along to that distant light. That its beautiful splendor may shed de- light On the mate of my choice, Irene. TO IRENE. In the cheerless gloom of my silent i-oom. And may I not deem that my passionate dream I am sitting alone, Irene, Holds the essence of truth, Irene ? While the frozen rain on my window-pane With a sorrowful cadence comes drifting, Then the rain may beat, and the driveling sleet amain. Come drifting along in a frozen sheet. As the merciless winds of the night con- But my heart broods a melody low and strain. sweet And I'm thinking of thee, Irene ! That I'd breathe to but one, Irene !
