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Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside;
The smile none else might understand ; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss so guiltless and refined
That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,
Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine; 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 wo 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:
It fain would form my hope in heaven!
Be silent thou once soothing strain,
I dare not trust those sounds again.
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
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;
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
'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, Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake:
Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream; A 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.
ONE struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain ; One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.