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LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBER'D NOW.

LET thy joys alone be remember'd now,
Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile;

Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile.
For thus to meet, and thus to find,

That Time, whose touch can chill
Each flower of form, each grace of mind,
Hath left thee blooming still,—
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;

Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile.

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade,
If but one bright leaf remain,

Of the many that once its glory made,
It is not for us to complain.

But thus to meet and thus to wake

In all Love's early bliss;

Oh, Time all other gifts may take,

So he but leaves us this!

Then let joy alone be remember'd now,

Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;

Or if thoughts dark cloud come o'er thy brow, Let Love light it up with his smile!

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?

LOVE thee, dearest ? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which through tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;

Though often dim,

With tears, like him,

Like him my truth will shine,

And-love thee, dearest ? love thee?

Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest ? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;

When my vows deceive thee,

He will wander too.

A cloud of night

May veil his light,

And death shall darken mine

But leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, till death I'm thine.

MY HEART AND LUTE.

I GIVE thee all-I can no more-
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels

Much more than lute could tell.

Though love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 'twill make them lighter pass

Or gild them if they stay.
And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings

A discord o'er life's happy strain, Let love but gently touch the strings, "Twill all be sweet again!

PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE!

WHEN I am dead

Then lay my head

In some lone, distant dell, Where voices ne'er

Shall stir the air,

Or break its silent spell.

If any sound

Be heard around,
Let the sweet bird alone,
That weeps in song

Sing all night long,

"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

Yet, oh, were mine

One sigh of thine,

One pitying word from thee,

Like gleams of heav'n,

To sinners giv'n,

Would be that word to me.

Howe'er unblest,

My shade would rest

While list'ning to that tone;-
Enough 'twould be

To hear from thee,

"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

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