78 X, OVE’s T 0 K E N - F L 0 WE RS. 
Our love-dream has vanished, 
And coldly I speak 
The words that once banished 
The blood from my cheek ; 
Other idols may woo thee, 
All changed is' thy lot, 
And Fame may pursue thee, 
But love is forgot. 
PHEASANT'S EYE. — Elos Adonis. 
Sorrowful Remembrances. 
It was a lady, young and fair, 
Who sung that mournful strain, 
Her brow wore not a shade of care, 
Her cheek no trace of pain ; 
Yet sung she, e’en as one who knows 
How youthful hearts are torn, 
“ Love’s first step is upon the rose 
His second finds the thorn.” 
Bright jewels bound her raven hair, 
And sparkled on her hand, 
