Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

Ah what avails the sceptered race, Ah what the form divine!

'Tis verse that gives Immortal youth to mortal maids.

Past are three summers since she first beheld The ocean; all around the child await Some exclamation of amazement here. She coldly said, her long-lasht eyes ab…