And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour! Of the wide world I stand alone, and think S CC DESIDERIA URPRISED by joy-impatient as the wind I turn'd to share the transport - O with whom But Thee-deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind But how could I forget thee? through what power Even for the least division of an hour Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss? That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; W. Wordsworth CCI T the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, AT I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky! Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love! 't is thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. T. Moore CCII A ELEGY ON THYRZA ND thou art dead, as young and fair And forms so soft and charms so rare Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low There flowers or weeds at will may grow So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved and long must love To me there needs no stone to tell Yet did I love thee to the last, Who didst not change through all the past And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The sun that cheers, the storm that lours The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Since earthly eye but ill can bear I know not if I could have borne The night that follow'd such a morn Thy day without a cloud hath past, As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept if I could weep, To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, Yet how much less it were to gain, And more thy buried love endears ΟΝ CCIII NE word is too often profaned One feeling too falsely disdain'd For thee to disdain it. One hope is too like despair I can give not what men call love ; The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow? |