Hark! gain that dull chime, Down to oblivion going, IF IN LOVING, SINGING. Ir in loving, singing, night and day, Thou and I could make our minutes No atoms ever glanced so bright, THOU LOV'ST NO MORE. Too plain, alas! my doom is spoken, Thou lov'st no more-thou lov'st no more. Though kindly still those eyes behold me, The smile is gone which once they wore; Though fondly still those arms enfold me, "Tis not the same-thou lov'st no more. Too long my dream of bliss believing, I've thought thee all thou wert before; But now-alas! there's no deceiving. 'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more. Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, As lost affection's life restore, Give peace to her that is forsaken, WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. WHEN abroad in the world thou appearest, And the young and the lovely are there, To my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest, To my eyes thou'rt of all the most They pass, one by one, "See, how fair we can be." No-no, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee. KEEP THOSE EYES STILL Then think they're turned on me Or bring back him who loves no Fix their charmed thoughts alone, more. Thou think'st the while on me. HOPE COMES AGAIN. HOPE Comes again, to this heart long a stranger, Once more she sings me her flattering strain; But hush, gentle syren-for, ah, there's less danger In still suffering on, than in hoping again, Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain ; And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining O'er eyelids long darkened, would bring me but pain. Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er me; Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, But, ah-in forgetting how once I was blest. O SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. O SAY, thou best and brightest, From life's dark scene hath past, Will kinder thoughts then move thee? For him who lived to love thee, If when that hour recalling From which he dates his woes, Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling, Ah, blush not while it flows: But, all the past forgiving, Bend gently o'er his shrine, And say, "This heart, when living, With all its faults, was mine." WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE WHEN night brings the hour To tangle young hearts; Name but his name, For reward you may claim. Where'er o'er the ground He prints his light feet, The flow'rs there are found Most shining and sweet: His looks, as soft As lightning in May, Though dangerous oft, Ne'er wound but in play: And oh, when his wings Have brushed o'er my lyre, You'd fancy its strings Were turning to fire. Guess who he is, Name but his name, And his best kiss For reward you may claim. LIKE ONE WHO, DOOMED. LIKE one who, doomed o'er distant seas His weary path to measure, When home at length, with fav'ring breeze, He brings the far-sought treasure; His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, FEAR not that, while around thee Let our past love remain ; May the new ties that bind thee WHEN LOVE IS KIND. WHEN Love is kind, Cheerful and free, Love's sure to find Welcome from me. But when Love brings Heartache or pang, Tears, and such thingsLove may go hang! If Love can sigh For one alone, Well pleased am I' To be that one. Love given to rove To two or three, Then-good-bye, Love! Love must, in short, Else, here I swear, THE GARLAND I SEND THEE. THE garland I send thee was culled from those bowers Where thou and I wandered in long vanished hours; Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom herc displays, But bears some remembrance of those happy days. The roses were gathered by that garden gate, Where our meetings, though early, seemed always too late; Where lingering full oft through a summer-night's moon, Our partings, though late, appeared always too soon. The rest were all culled from the banks of that glade, Where, watching the sunset, so often we've strayed, And mourned, as the time went, that Love had no power To bind in his chain even one happy hour. HOW SHALL I WOO? IF I speak to thee in Friendship's name, I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires, | Thus may we, as years are flying, If more thou seek'st, a lover. Which shall it be? How shall I woo? Fair one, choose between the two. To their flight our pleasures suit, Nor regret the blossoms dying, While we still may taste the fruit. Oh, while days like this are ours, Where's the lip that dares repine? Spring may take our loves and flowers, So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. |