The pledge we wore-I wear it still, But where is thine?-ah, where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill, But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb, I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss, To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me too early taught by thee! To bear, forgiving and forgiven : On earth thy love was such to me, It fain would form my hope in heaven! STANZAS. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence, for, oh! I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze On what I am, on what I was. The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead? Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony Is worse than discord to my heart! 'Tis silent all!-but on my ear The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear, A voice that now might well be still: Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, Thou art but now a lovely dreamA star that trembled o'er the deep, Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he who through life's dreary way Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; That smiles with all, and weeps with none It was not thus in days more dear; It never would have been, but thou In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! On many a lone and lovely night When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, << That Thyrza cannot know my pains. My life when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! TO THYRZA. ONE struggle more, and I am free With things that never pleased before What future grief can touch me more EUTHANASIA. WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, To weep or wish the coming blow: No maiden, with dishevell'd hair, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche, to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, Even Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan! For thousands death hath ceased to lower, «Ay, but to die, and go,» alas! Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, T is something better-not to be. STANZAS. Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse! AND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, In carelessness or mirth, I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, The love where death has set his seal, Nor falsehood disavow: And what were worse, thou canst not see, The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine; The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; That all those charms have pass'd away The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd I know not if I could have borne Had worn a deeper shade: Thy day without a cloud hath past, Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, Uphold thy drooping head; Yet how much less it were to gain, Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears STANZAS. IF sometimes in the haunts of men The semblance of thy gentle shade : Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before. Oh! pardon that in crowds awhile, WELL! thou art happy, and I feel Thy husband's blest-and 't will impart Would hate him, if he loved thee not! When late I saw thy favourite child, I thought my jealous heart would break; I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs Mary, adieu! I must away: While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay; My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride My heart in all, save hope, the same. Yet was I calm : I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime We met, and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou traceThe sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart, be still, or break. FROM THE PORTUGUESE. IN moments to delight devoted, My life!» with tenderest tone, you cry; Dear words on which my heart had doted, If youth could neither fade nor die. ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Friends of the stage! to whom both players and plays And made us blush that you forbore to blame; This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obcy'd, Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own. Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old! Still may we please-long, long may you preside! TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, But drag or drive us on to dieHail thou! who on my birth bestow'd Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load, For now I bear the weight alone. I would not one foud heart should share Thy future ills shall press in vain; Retards, but never counts the hour. Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light, But could not add a night to woe; For then, however drear and dark, My soul was suited to thy sky; One star alone shot forth a spark To prove thee-not Eternity. Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, I faint, I die beneath the blow, Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net, Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. A bird of free and careless wing Was I, through many a smiling spring; I burn, and feebly flutter there. Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, Can ueither feel nor pity pain; The cold repulse, the look askance, In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; My light of life! ah, tell me why Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: My curdling blood, my maddening brain, In silent anguish I sustain! And still thy heart, without partaking Pour me the poison; fear not thou! I've lived to curse my natal day, My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, |