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172

IN IMITATION OF KÖRNER'S " DAS WARST DU.”

VI.

At last I went, my sail unfurling,

On life's first billowy waves alone,
Light breezes were the waters curling,
And sunlight every drop empearling,

With radiance like its own.

VII.

Oh, still that form my spirit haunted,

Though its deep semblance scarce was known,
Thy steps were on the light clouds planted,
And what of sweetness music chanted

Seem'd borrow'd from thine own.

VIII.

Beloved, that was blest, but sadness

Broods alway o'er the heart's unknown :
Now dreams have pass’d, and springs of gladness,
But I may not tell — to tell were madness

What joy-springs are mine own.

IX.

Ah ! life's rough billows swell for ever,

And years will fly as years have flown, And youth fleets on, — yet never, never, Can time or distance thee dissever,

Beloved, from thine own.

X.

And still thy form in light arises,

Like trancing music round me thrown, And though the voice thyself surprises, Thy fond love breaks through all disguises,

And whispers, “ All thine own.”

Watton, 1844.

ON SEEING A LEAF FALL BY MOON

LIGHT.

I.

Oh, bright was the hour when thou wast born,
And the winds sang peace to the blushing morn

Who stepp'd o'er the clouds at their matin call :
But ne'er may the memory of days gone by
Save the victim of death when his hour is nigh ;
And vain was the warmth of thy natal sky;

The moonlight saw thee fall.

II.

Thy youth it was spent in dance and glee,
With thy leaflet brothers embowering thee,

Happiness trembling o'er one and all : But the loveliest dreams must fade

away, And our comrades, ah, tell me, where are they? Links are broken to-morrow, though twined to-day ;

The moonlight saw thee fall.

III.

Thou hast stood the cloud and the dashing rain,
Over thee the chill blast hath swept in vain,

And the night vainly spread her funeral pall:
But a word may crush when the heart doth ache,
And it needs not then a storm ere it break;
Thou hast stood the tempest, when strong hearts quake,

But the moonlight saw thee fall.

Watton, 1844.

FRAGMENTS.

For though the skirts of the far tempest oft
Have fallen on my path, though I have proved,
At times, the bitterness of grief, — yet, when
The heart is all alone in suffering,
We scarce can say that we have suffer'd ;- all
Seems centred so within us, and the waves
Swell in so narrow and so small a world,
That what hath moved us scarce can ask the name
Of suffering

Sunny hath been my home of childhood strong
The links of love that bind our happy circle,
No jarring note hath broken the sweet stream
Of music that hath linger’d, like the dove

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