XXVII.

On being asked what was the "Origin of Love?"

THE "Origin of Love!"-Ah why

That cruel question ask of me?

When thou may'st read in many an eye-
He starts to life on seeing thee!

And should'st thou seek his end to know-
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
He'll linger long in silent woe-
But live-until I cease to be.

XXVIII.

Remember him, &c.

1.

REMEMBER him, whom passion's power

Severely, deeply, vainly proved

Remember thou that dangerous hour

When neither fell, though both were loved.

S

2.

That yielding breast, that melting eye,
Too much invited to be blest-

That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reprov'd, repress'd

3.

Oh! let me feel that all I lost,

But saved thee all that conscience fears,

And blush for every pang it cost

To spare the vain remorse of years!

4.

Yet think of this when many a tongue, Whose busy accents whisper blame, Would do the heart that loved thee wrong, And brand a nearly blighted name.

5.

Think that-whate'er to others--thou

Hast seen each selfish thought subdu'd;

I bless thy purer soul even now,

Even now, in midnight solitude.

6.

Oh, God! that we had met in time

Our hearts as fond-thy hand more free; When thou had'st lov'd without a crime,

And I been less unworthy thee!

7.

Far be thy days as heretofore

From this our gaudy world be pass'd!

And that too bitter moment o'er,

Oh! may such trial be thy last!

8.

This heart, alas! perverted long,

Itself destroyed might there destroy; To meet thee in the glittering throng, Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.

9.

Then to the things whose bliss or woe Like mine is wild and worthless allThat world resign-such scenes forego, Where those who feel must surely fall.

10.

Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness-
Thy soul from long seclusion pure;
From what even here hath past may guess

What there thy bosom must endure.

11.

Oh! pardon that imploring tear,

Since not by Virtue shed in vainMy frenzy drew from eyes so dear—

For me they shall not weep again.

12.

Though long and mournful must it be,

The thought that we no more may meet―

Yet I deserve the stern decree,

And almost deem the sentence sweet.

13.

Still had I lov'd thee less-my heart
Had less have sacrificed to thine;

It felt not half so much to part,

As if its guilt had made thee mine

XXIX.

From the Turkish.

1.

THE chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound,

The heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserv'd the fate it found.

2.

These gifts were charm'd by secret spell
Thy truth in absence to divine;

And they have done their duty well,

Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

3.

That chain was firm in every link,

But not to bear a stranger's touch;

That lute was sweet-till thou could'st think In other hands its notes were such.