This will recall each youthful scene, E'en when our lives are on the wane; The leaves of Love will still be green When Memory bids them bud again. Oh! little lock of golden hue, In gently waving ringlet curl'd, Not though a thousand more adorn The polish'd brow where once you shone, Like rays which gild a cloudless morn, Beneath Columbia's fervid zone. 1806. [First published, 1832.] I H! had my fate been join'd with thine, For then my peace had not been broken. To thee these early faults I owe, To thee, the wise and old reproving : They know my sins, but do not know 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. For once, my soul, like thine, was pure, But now thy vows no more endure, Perhaps his peace I could destroy, For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. Ah! since thy angel form is gone, My heart no more can rest with any; But what it sought in thee alone, Attempts, alas! to find in many. Then fare thee well, deceitful maid! Nor hope nor memory yield their aid, Yet all this giddy waste of years, This tiresome round of palling pleasures; These varied loves, these matron's fears, These thoughtless strains to passion's measure. If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd :- Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For Nature seem'd to smile before thee; And once my breast abhorr'd deceit,— For then it beat but to adore thee. But now I seek for other joys: To think would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs and empty noise I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Yet, even in these a thought will steal To know that thou art lost for ever. H, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you : But woman is made to command and deceive us I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you, |