« ForrigeFortsett »
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Love not! oh, warning vainly said
In present hours as in years gone by ;
Love not !
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love !
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past,
Thy image at our last embrace,
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last !
Ayr, gurgling. kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O’erhung with wild woods, thickening, green, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene ;
The flowers sprang wanton to be press’d,
The birds sang love on every sprayTill too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o’er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is thy blissful place of rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
FAREWELL TO NANCY.
AE fond kiss, and then we sever!
Me, nae cheer
lights me; Dark despair around
I'll ne'er blame my
partial fancyNaething could re
sist my Nancy :
to love her,
love for ever. " NEVER MET-OR NEVER PARTED,
Had we never loved
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest !
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh;
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell !Farewell !
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns, nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain
I only feel—Farewell !—Farewell !
THE DYING LOVER.
THE grass that is under me now
Will soon be over me, sweet ;
walk this way again I shall not hear
You may walk this way again,
And shed your tears like dew;
Than mine are now to you !
R. H. STODDARD.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray ; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.
SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
And very few to love;
A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!
Is shining in the sky.