















FLORA’S ALBUM. 

Anemone, Garden. 
“ Youth, like a thin anemone, displays 
Her silken leaf, and in a morn decays.” 
FORSAKEN. 
As some lone bird without a mate, 
My weary heart is desolate ; 
I look around, and cannot trace 
One friendly smile or welcome face, 
And eyer in crowds am still alone, 
Because I cannot love but one. 
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth 
Still finds some hospitable hearth, 
Where friendship’s or love’s softer glow 
May smile in joy or soothe in woe; 
But friend or leman I have none, 
Because I cannot love but one. 
I go, — but whereso’er I flee, 
There ’s not an eye will weep for me}; 
There ’s not a kind, congenial heart, 
Where I can claim the meanest part ; 
And thou who hast my hopes undone, 
Wilt sigh, althoygh I love but one. 


