'Twill make our grief far lighter
When friends and joys depart,
To find that one will love us still
With an unchanging heart.
That we shall still be friends together,,
The truth I inward feel;
And even now the magic charm
Does o'er my senses steal.
I know that love and honour dwell
Within thy fair young heart,
And friendship's fair and pleasant form.
Shall never more depart.
I WAS young, and I never
Had bowed to Love's shrine;
I was wishing for ever
His presence divine.
My heart beat untrammelled,
And on it no name Had yet been enamelled
In letters of flame.
Then rose on my vision
One glorious and bright;
And life grew elysian-
My heart was all light.
I loved him-that passion,
Though ages may roll
O'er my heart's desolation,
Will live in my soul.
Of beautiful stature-
With beautiful eyes;
So noble in nature,
So learned and wise.
With voice sweetly ringing
In music's rich spell,
The tones are still clinging
To memory too well.
"WHAT LACK I YET ?"
HE came, the young and gifted one,
His moral virtues brightly shone;
And midst the blaze of wealth and pride,
An humble spirit is descried.
He came with haste, and meekly bowed,
Regardless of the astonished crowd,
At Jesus' feet, and asked the way
That led to an eternal day.
The Saviour answered, "Would'st thou go
To that blest home-leave all below;
Give to the poor thy riches free,
Take up thy cross and follow me."
The youthful cheek which just before.
One strong desire had crimsoned o'er,
Is changed to one of doubt and care,
And sorrow's hue alone is there.
He breathes one sigh o'er hope's decay,
Then turns with anguished heart away;
For sordid dust has bought the mind
That was for nobler ends designed.
THOU art gone-thou hast left me in silence to weep,
Thou hast left the fond heart but to perish alone;
The dreams that I loved, have aroused from the sleep
That has bound in enchantment, the joys that have flown,
Ah, vain was the transport, the sigh, the emotion,
That whispered my bosom of happier days;
And vain was the promise that swelled my devotion,
For sore is the heart that such falsehood betrays.
And think not, dear maiden, the token thou'st left ine,
Can soothe the last hope of a bosom sincere;
Can calm its wild sorrow since thou hast bereft me
Of all the heart pants for, of all that is dear.
Methought that you loved me-'twas but an illusion,
And one that I eagerly cherished, believed;
The vow that you made me, was, too, a delusion,
That served but to rack the sad heart that received.
Methought that my moments of love and of pleasure,
Those fond recollections which never can cease,
Were but preludes to joy and to bliss without measure,
To happiness gained, would to death but increase.
But fare thee well, maiden, my sad recollection,
Recalls not the sorrows of one who will dwell
In seclusion for ever, where the blight of affection
Be witnessed by none-fare thee well! fare thee well!
OH, for one draught of those waters now
That shed such freshness o'er my early life!
Oh that I could but bathe my fevered brow
To wash away the dust of worldly strife,
And be a simple-hearted child once more,
As if I ne'er had known this world's pernicious lore!
My heart is weary, and my spirit pants
Beneath the heat and burden of the day; Would that I could regain those shady haunts
Where, once with Hope, I dreamed the hours away;
Giving my thoughts to tales of old romance,
And yielding up my soul to youth's delicious trance!
Vain are such wishes: I no more may tread
With lingering step and slow the green hill-side;
Before me now life's shortening path is spread,
And I must onward, whatsoe'er betide :
The pleasant nooks of youth are passed for aye,
And sober scenes now meet the traveller on his way.
Alas! the dust which clogs my weary feet
Glitters with fragments of each ruined shrine, Where once my spirit worshipped, when, with sweet And passionless devotion, it could twine
Its strong affections round earth's earthliest things,
Yet bear away no stain upon its snowy wings.
What though some flowers have 'scaped the tempest's wrath?
Daily they droop by nature's swift decay:
What though the setting sun still lights my path?
Morn's dewy freshness long has passed away.
Oh, give me back life's newly-budded flowers
Let me once more inhale the breath of morning's hours!
My youth, my youth! oh, give me back my youth!
Not unfurrowed brow and blooming cheek,
But childhood's sunny thoughts, its perfect truth,
And youth's unworldly feelings-these I seek;
Ah, who could e'er be sinless and yet sage?
Would that I might forget Time's dark and blotted page!
LOVE'S PLEADING.
SPEAK tender words, mine own beloved, to me-
Call me thy lily-thy imperial one,
That, like the Persian, breathes adoringly
Its fragrant worship ever to the sun.
Speak tender words, lest doubt with me prevail :
Call me thy rose-
e-thy queen rose! throned apart,
That all unheedful of the nightingale,
Folds close the dew within her burning heart.
For thou'rt the sun that makes the heaven fair,
Thy love, the blest dew that sustains me here:
And like the plant that hath its root in air,
I only live within thy atmosphere.
Look on me with thy soul-illumined eyes,
And murmur low in love's entrancing tone-
Methinks the angel-lute of paradise
Had never voice so thrilling as thine own!
Say I am dearer to thee than renown,
My praise more treasured than the world's acclaim: Call me thy laurel-thy victorious crown,
Wreathed in unfading glory round thy name.
Breathe low to me each pure enraptured thought,
While thus thy arms my trusting heart entwine :
Call me by all fond meanings love hath wrought,
But, oh, Ianthis, ever call me thine!
THE maiden sat at her busy wheel,
Her heart was light and free,
And ever in cheerful song broke forth
Her bosom's harmless glee :
Her song was in mockery of love,
And oft I heard her say,
The gathered rose and the stolen heart.
Can charm but for a day."
I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,
And her lip so full and bright,
And I sighed to think that the traitor Love
Should conquer a heart so light :·
But she thought not of future days of woe,
While she carolled in tones so gay-
"The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
A year passed on, and again I stood
By the humble cottage door :
The maid sat at her busy wheel,
But her look was blithe no more;
The big tear stood in her downcast eye,
And with sighs I heard her say,
"The gathered rose and the stolen heart Can charm but for a day."
Oh, well I knew what had dimmed her eye, And made her cheek so pale:
The maid had forgotten her early song,
While she listened to Love's soft tale; She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup, It had wasted her life away
And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, Had charmed but for a day.
THOU art not penitent,, although
There rages in thy brain
A scorching madness undefined,
Whose very breath is flame.
|