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,

Or bring back him who loves no more.


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 fair.
They pass, one by one,

Like waves of the sea,
That say to the Sun,

"See, how fair we can be."
But where's the light like thine,
In sun or shade to shine?
No, no, 'mong them all there is nothing like thee,
Nothing like thee.

Oft, of old, without farewell or warning,

Beauty's self used to steal from the skies; Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, And post down to earth in disguise; But no matter what shroud

Around her might be, Men peep'd through the cloud, And whisper'd, "Tis She." So thou, where thousands are, Shin'st forth the only star, — Yes, yes, 'mong them all there is nothing like thee Nothing like thee.


Keep those eyes still purely mine,

Though far off I be:
When on others most they shine,

Then think they're turn'd on me.

Should those lips as now respond

To sweet minstrelsy,
When their accents seem most fond,

Then think they're breathed for me.

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own,

If when all on thee
Fix their charmed thoughts alone,

Thou think'st the while on me.

Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger,

Once more she sings me her flatt'ring 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 darken'd, would bring me but pain.

Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er me j
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,

My first love and my last,
When he, whom now thou slightest,

From life's dark scene hath past,
Will kinder thoughts then move thee?

Will pity wake one thrill
For him who liv'd to love thee,

And dying, lov'd thee still?

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 hour

Of starlight and joy,
There comes to my bower

A fairy-wing'd boy;
With eyes so bright,

So full of wild arts,
Like nets of light,

To tangle young hearts;
With lips, in whose keeping

Love's secret may dwell,
Like Zephyr asleep in

Some rosy sea-shell.
Guess who he is,

Name but his name,
And his best kiss,

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 brush'd 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, doom'd 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,
That shore to which he hasted;

And all the wealth he thought his own
Is o'er the waters wasted.

Like him, this heart, thro' many a track

Of toil and sorrow straying,
One hope alone brought fondly back,

Its toil and grief repaying.

« ForrigeFortsett »