IN the cheerless gloom of my silent room,
I am sitting alone, Irene,
While the frozen rain on my window-pane
With a sorrowful cadence comes drifting, amain,
As the merciless winds of the night constrain,
And I'm thinking of thee, Irene!

Yes! my thoughts take flight, through the dismal night,
To the beautiful home, Irene,
Where, a stranger-guest, at the kind behest
Of her whom the loveliest charms invest,
I was welcomed to more than the tongue confessed,
Or my heart dared hope, Irene.

O, the kind regard which the fair award,
I can never forget, Irene !
And a nameless spell, like the mystic knell
Which is born in the breast of the ocean- shell,
From the innermost depths of my heart will swell
With the memory of thee, Irene!

And beaming afar, like a rising star,
Is the Artist's hope, Irene!
Through the lonely night, while its rays invite,
I will struggle along to that distant light,
That its beautiful splendor may shed delight
On the mate of my choice, Irene.

And may I not deem that my passionate dream
Holds the essence of truth, Irene ?
Then the rain may beat, and the driveling sleet
Come drifting along in a frozen sheet,
But my heart broods a melody low and sweet
That I'd breathe to but one, Irene!