BAY, RED 
Love’s Memory. 
My heart is like the ocean shell— 
Though from the home it loves exiled, 
Still echoes through its winding cell 
The wave’s sad music, soft and wild. 
Ah! thus thy voice, too dear to me, 
Will still keep sweetly murmuring low; 
Still haunt the heart that beats for thee, 
And bless me wheresoe’er I go! 
Fanny Fay. 
COULD I WEEP AS I HAVE WEPT. 
“Could I weep as I have wept, 
Could I value vows once broken, 
Thou might’st scorn the love I’ve kept, 
Like some sad but sacred token,— 
Token of some boyish pleasure 
Which, in early days, was treasure. 
“Treasure kept from all apart, 
Worship’d, sought in secret still, 
Like an altar of the heart, 
On some lone and shrouded hill, 
Where, by night, at starry hours, 
Came an angel down with flow’rs. 
“Though the altar-place be bare, 
And the flow’rs have felt the blast, 
Still it once was holy there, 
And I love it for the past. 
Though the angel fell—the flow’rs, 
They were brought from holy bow’rs.” 
W. G. Simms. 
