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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,
3. 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.
2. That yielding breast, that melting eye,
Too much invited to be blest, That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reprov'd, repress'd'
3. Oh! let me feel that all I lost, too.
But saved thee all that conscience fears, 1 And blush for every pang it costi
To spare the vain remorse of years!
Yet think of this when many a tongue, it's
Whose busy accents whisper blame, Would do the heart that loved thee wrong, I
And brand a nearly blighted name...
5. Think that whate'er to others--thou por
Hast seen each selfish thought subdu’d; ! I bless thy purer soul even now, sospornis
Even pow, 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.