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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 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 forgiv'n: On earth thy love was such to me;

It fain would form my hope in heav'n!

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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.
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake:
· Ev’n 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 heav'n is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path."


To Thyrza

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.
It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleas'd before:
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?

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Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; .

Man was not form'd to live alone: I'll be that light unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear,

It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here;

Thou’rt nothing, all are nothing now.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!

The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,

Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl

Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure fires the madd’ning soul, .

The heart—the heart is lonely still!

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