The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before. 2. Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile, I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile, Unfaithful to thy Memory! Nor deem that memory less dear, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear One sigh that should be wholly thine. VOL. IV. R 3. If not the goblet pass unquaff'd, From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl That drown'd a single thought of thee. 4. For wert thou vanish'd from my mind, And who would then remain behind No, No-it is my sorrow's pride "Tis meet that I remember still. 5. For well I know, that such had been Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene, A blessing never meant for me; March 14th, 1812. ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. 1. ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain? Have years of care for thine and thee Alike been all employ'd in vain? 2. Yet precious seems each shatter'd part, A fitter emblem of his own. [This poem and the following were written some years ago.] TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 1. FEW Few years have pass'd since thou and I Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, 2. like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most Too soon forget they loved at all. 3. And such the change the heart displays, Will view thy mind estranged again. 4. If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. 5. As rolls the ocean's changing tide, So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow ? 6. It boots not, that together bred, Our childish days were days of joy ; My spring of life has quickly fled; Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. .7. And when we bid adieu to youth, Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth; That world corrupts the noblest soul. |