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The strain that round thee loy'd to sail,
The guide that told thee where to build it, I was the dream that ne'er deceived,
The waking truth that still fulfilled it ; The thought that blossom'd to the smile
Thy maiden pride could rule so well, The thrill that told thee grief and guile
In thought of thine could never dwell. And more I was, but earthly sight
Can ne'er pursue my changes through ; Nor earthly words tell what delight
On each of these wild changes grew. But, oh, this was not half that bless'd;
Another torch of joy was beaming, It gave
its glow to all the rest, And, like a halo round them streaming,
It was too glorious e'en for dreaming !
Fled with my fleeting breath,
Fell fondly to my lot in death;
And round my mem'ry sweetly clung,
“I was not once”-so told that sigh
“ The soul that stoop'd for love to bind, But thought the scorn in woman's eye
More graced it than the tear behind; And many a heart had pass'd away,
And many a fervent vow was chill'd, Before I learn'd how weak are they
Who stem the tide that nature will’d. Ambition pride may have their time,
Though never made for woman's breast;
Wherein her hopes might rest.
Memorial of the worthless store,
Denied to him who loved me more Than these may feign or I may speak. In truth, methinks, though spring hath shed Her gems of purple o'er his bed,
In true-love tones he tells me still
If sacred still his mem'ry be,
lone sorrow ne'er recline
Thus nought was wanting to my bliss
Except to tell how near
On earth might ne'er appear ;
What brighter beams were given
The veil 'twixt earth and heaven !
Thy watch is done, thy charge is free! Now learn how hearts that time hath torn
Unite in immortality.” With that I bent me o'er thy face, To steal thy spirit's first embrace ; And who, methought, would e'er be curst
In such a world as this to stay, Where all that 's fairest is the first
To mock his hopes and melt away ; And nought but disappointment
And nought but sin and sorrow lasting Oh, who, methought would e'er endure
Its hour of bliss, its age of blasting?
And fate and all its fears defying,
Unchanged in aught except undying ; And to my heart thy heart was prest,
All bashful, beauteous, undenying, And on my lips thy lips confessed
The tale that had no voice but sighing : And on mine eyes thine eyes did rest,
To speechless question speechlessly replying; Whiles on thine own blue dwelling turning,
Whiles on the form which late had staid thee; Now first with angel blushes learning
How gloriously the heavens had made thee! 'Twas thus our spirits met at last, Earth and its mem'ry thus we pass'd, Upon the breath of rapture fleeing, Intense and endless as our being.
Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath made proud Of heart to ride on a bay trotting horse.
My friend Bob is a vastly clever young man. There are few things which he cannot do even to his own satisfaction, which, considering his fastidious taste, with respect to other people, is saying all that is necessary. It is the case with a great many gifted persons of my acquaintance that they cannot restrain themselves from claiming their just dues when they hear others boasting of things which they can do much better themselves. Such a person is my friend Bob. We happened to be invited, one day last winter, to a large dinner-party, where we met the chief of the neighbouring gentry; and here, as on all other occasions, my friend established