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Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forc'd to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought: 'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st—too soon thou leavest.
The wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit;
But her who not a thought disguises,
Whose love is as sincere as sweet, When she can change who lov'd so truly, -, , It feels what mine has felt so newly.
To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
Is doom'd to all who love or live; And if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our fancy can forgive, That cheated us in slumber only, . To leave the waking soul more lonely,
What must they feel whom no false vision,
But truest, tenderest passion warm’d?
As if a dream alone had charm'd ?
On being asked what was the “ Origin of Love ?!
The“ Origin of Love!”—Ah why
That cruel question ask of me?
He starts to life on seeing thee!' I
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, up He'll linger long in silent woe-. : : A Big
But live-until I cease to be.
Remember him, whom passion's power
Severely, deeply, vainly provedRemember thou that dangerous hour
When neither fell, though both were loved.
That yielding breast, that melting eye,
*Too much invited to be blest . That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reprov’d, repressid
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! ..
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. ir
Think that whate'er to others--thout
Hast seen each selfish thought subdu'd;
Even now, in midnight solitude.
Oh, God! that we had met in time, yes, ; ;
Our hearts as fond-thy hand more free ;! When thou had'st lov'd without a crime,..:
And I been less unworthy thee! ;,,!"
1%. Far be thy days as heretofore ! .
From this our gandy world be pass’d! . And that too bitter moment o'er, it
Oh! may such trial be thy last! !
This heart, alas! perverted long,
s Itself destroyed might there destroy ; : To meet thee in the glittering throng,
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy..
Then to the things whose bliss or woe';
Like mine is wild and worthless all That world resign--such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall.