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If thou wilt not at grief repine
Nor yield to dark despair,
And joy thou still may'st share ;
And gain a sure relief,
But triumph o'er thy grief.
G.-If I had a prophet's eye to see
The length of thy future way,
For oft shall thy footsteps stray ;
L.-To watch, perhaps, a wild and wandering heart,
To chain by love the rover; to beguile
With soft persuasive eloquence; to smile,
Esteems her peace so lightly; but to twine
To lay her heart before him, as the shrine
That it was sworn to worship; to win back
These, and a thousand cares like these beside,
Make up the lot of woman; all the hours
While summer lasts, against those wintry showers,
The gods take pleasure oft, when haughty mortals
Your wish is very moderate,
But little can you need ;
You surely will succeed.
Desire it not, for time will show
The gain would be but small,
And give perhaps thine all.
G.-Flatter and praise, extol her every grace,
Though ne'er so black, call hers an angel's face ;
or “No ;" He's not content with that evasion,
That half refusal, “ May be so."
He always doubts the friendly meaning
Of“ Well,” “ Perhaps,” “I do not know;"'
He'd rather have the answer No!”
And when he asks that trembling question,
you be mine, my dearest miss ?”
To say distinctly, “ Yes sir, yes !"
Affection can withstand very severe storms of rigor, but not a long polar frost of downright indifference.
Sir W. Scott.
G—You came too late !-Neglect had tried
Her constancy too long;
And the deep sense of wrong;
She scorned the offering of a heart
Which lingered on its way
Nor spread one cheering ray.
That all your power was o'er,
She thought of you no niore; Anger and grief had passed away,
Her heart and thoughts were free ;
No spell had memory.
Of love were all unbound ;
But by the slights that wound.
That could the past repay,
And coldly turned away.
Of love had long since flown ;
Nor in your whispered tone;
Miss E. Bogart.
L.- 'Tis difficult to see another,
The passing stranger of a day,
The rebel mourner in the breast,
Its bitter jealousy to rest;
G.-Of her pride---all attempts to explain which defies,
That with so little food it should reach such a size.
L.-Cash! cash! for this he'll strive and toil,
At morning, noon, and night,
On politics he'd write ;
G.-Sometimes sweet, and sometimes sour,
Frowns to awe, and smiles to please,
Changing with the changing breeze.