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Í DON'T know thee, Sorrow,

, , Háve no wish to know thee, Dón't admire thy pále face Drooping líds and moist cheeks.

Yét methínks I've seen thee
Áh! I now remember
Twice before I 've seen thee,
Dísmal, black - robed Sorrow.

First when on her deathbed
Láy my noble mother
And with failing breath breathed
Blessings on her children,

Thére beside the deathbed
Í behéld thee, Sórrow,
Wring thy hánds in ánguish,
Ảnd the scálding teár shed.

Next I saw thee, Sorrow,
Sítting bý my Ánn Jane's
Néw - made moúnd sepúlchral
In the vale of Sarca.

Nó tear thén thy cheek wet,
Nór didst thoú thy hands wring,
Bút beside the gráve sat'st
Gázing on the fresh earth;

Ón the fresh earth gazing
Mótionless as scúlptured
Moúrner in a church aisle,
Ínside á tomb's railing.

Toó, too well, I know thee,
Súnk cheeked, réd eyed Sorrow;
Hié thee to the gráveyard,
Hére there 's nó place for thee.

TOURNAY (BELGIUM), Nov. 15, 1854.

ÁH! it's háted dáybreak,
And the dear dreams vanish,
Vísions of the past time,
Faces of the well loved.

Once again she has left me
Hére alóne to moúrn her,
Shé that både me fárewell
In the vale of Sárca,

Waved her hand and said: - ,

“James,
Henceforth wé meet néver
Bút in dreams and visions
Óf the deep and deád night;

“Thén we 'll sometimes meét, James,
As of old we met oft,
And while we 're together
Think we've never párted.”

Flý fly, háted dáylight!
Sweet night, come again quick!
Till again I meet her
Whó by daylight néver

Meets me since we párted
In the vále of Sárca
Would there were no dáylight,
Bút deep midnight ever!

TOURNAY (BELGIUM), Nov. 16, 1854.

í

WOULD not believe it,
Thoúgh a thoúsand swóre it,
Thát the great and good God
Púnishes his creatures;

Why did hé so make them
That same great and good God
With those powerful pássions
Ảnd that púny fóresight?

Like the boiling láva,
Like the hówling témpest,
Líke the rolling thúnder,
Like the flashing lightning,

Rúshing unexpected
Cómes the pássion on them;
When the pássion 's on them,
Where's the power to stay it?

Ah, the hápless creatures !
Hów they 're tórn and táttered
Bý the ráging passions
Given them by the good God!

Lét it come more slówly,
Stealthily creep on them,
Still it comes as súrely,
Thé insidious pássion;

Coils itself about them,
Squeézes bones and marrow,
With its fángs their flésh nips,
Spírts its vénom ón them.

Áh the hápless creatures
Bítten, squeezed and poisoned
By the venomous pássions
Given them by the good God!

Hé it is I 'd púnish
Whó the pássions gave them,
Nót the hápless creatures
Víctims of the pássions.

Walking from FLEURUS to FONTAINE L'EVEQUE, HAINAULT (BELGIUM); Nov. 11, 1854.

Betrothed maiden sings.

WELCOME! welcome! welcome!
Pretty cléft-tailed swallow,
Twittering at my window
Júst before the sunrise.

Where hast been all winter,
Pretty cléft -tailed swallow,
Ín what pleásant wárm lands
Fár beyond the deep sea ?

Tell me hást thou seen him,
My hardheárted truélove,
Whó last aútumn léft me
Ánd took shipping southward;

Fór the south took shipping
And alone here léft me
To watch fór him álways
Ánd look álways soúthward.

Yes yes, thoú hast seen him, Bring'st good tidings of him: Thát he 's well and háppy; That he 's homeward coming;

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