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Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft,
Till Fear would come, alas ! as oft,
A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief,
Ruffle in haste some snowy leaf,
But, oh, there was a blooming boy,
And wrote therein such words of joy,
And Pleasure was this spirit's name,
Yet Innocence, whene'er he came,
For still she saw his playful fingers
And well she knew the stain that lingers
And so it chanced, one luckless night
O'er the dear book so pure, so white,
In vain he sought, with eager lip,
For still the more the boy would sip,
Oh, it would make you weep, to see
Steal o'er a page, where Modesty
And Fancy's emblems lost their glow,
And Love himself could scarcely know
At length the urchin Pleasure fled,
And Love, while many a tear he shed,
The index now alone remains,
And though it bears some honey stains,
And oft, they say, she scans it o'er,
Brings back the pages, now no more,
I know not if this tale be true,
And I refer their truth to you,
I saw THY FORM IN YOUTH FUL PRIME.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
So, veil'd beneath the simplest guise,
And that which charm'd all other eyes,
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ;
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though fairest forms we see,
Than to remember thee, Mary!
I SAW FROM THE BEACH.
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters moved gloriously on;
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone !
Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known : Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone!
Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning
The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ;Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning,
Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light.
Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning,
When passion first waked a new life through his frame, And his soul-like the wood that grows precious in burning
Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame!
THIS LIFE 18 ALL CHEQUERED WITH PLEASURES AND WOES.
This life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes,
That chase one another, like waves of the deep,-. Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows,
So closely our whims on our miseries tread,
That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried ; And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed,
The goose-feathers of Folly can turn it aside, But pledge me the cup—if existence would cloy
With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, Be ours the light grief that is sister to Joy,
And the short brilliant folly that flashes and dies !
When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount,
Through fields full of sunshine, with heart full of play, Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount,
And neglected his task for the flowers on the way. Thus some who, like me, should have drawn and have tasted
The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted,
And left their light urns all as empty as mine!
Her fowerets together, if Wisdom can see
From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me!
ST. JEROME'S LOVE.
Who is the maid my spirit seeks,
Through cold reproof and slander's blight?
Is hers an eye of this world's light?
Are the pale looks of her I love;
Its beam is kindled from above.
I chose not her, my soul's elect,
From those who seek their Maker's shrine
As if themselves were things divine !
That beats beneath a broider'd veil ;
Not so the faded form I prize
And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes
Is all the grace her brow puts on. And ne'er was beauty's dawn so bright,
So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light,
In holy lustre wastes away!
OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT.
Ort, in the stilly night,
Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
The smiles, the tears,
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm’d and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all
The friends, so link'd together,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garland's dead,
And all but he departed !
Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,