. Literature, art and song: Moore's melodies and American poems; . UbOlU^, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,Tho the herd-have fled from thee, thy home is still here,Here still is the smile, that no cloud can oercast,And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh ! what was love made for, if tis not the sameThro joy and thro torment, thro glory and shame?/<^^I know not, I ask not, if guilts in that heart, ji ?I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. 161.

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