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Well, lady, take again tne ring,

To deck that lily hand of thine, And with it take the gift I bring,

To lay on beauty's golden shrine.

With every joy and pleasure gay,

May all thine hours roll swift along, And life in beauty glide away,

Like the rich cadence of a song.

And in that future happy time,

Thine earlier friends perchance forgot, Say, wilt thou read this careless rhyme,

And him who wrote remember not?

Remember not ! and can it be

That joyous memories ever die ? That all my heart can feel for thee

Is but a lightly whispered sigh?

Ay, it is written on our lot,

That lot so varied, dark, and strange, To meet, to pass, and be forgot,

In painful and perpetual change.

But dash this idle gloom away,

And be again the gay and free; Thou must not to thy dying day

Forget this stolen ring and me!




The voice of Spring! and blushing flowers

Lean trembling from their seats,
Wooing from sunbeams and from showers

A free exchange of sweets :
Blithe birds their matin notes prolong

Among the cottage vines,
And cottage children list the song -

Sweet incense to sweet shrines !
Loath to depart, the sunny stream,

Oft turning, glides away-
All things of Paradise, the dream

To this dim spot convey.
Hearts, which the sweet affections bind

With nature's purest tie,
Where hope and faith are deeply shrined,

Too deeply, soon to die
Ye love the season! pure as light,

Untired the spirits play:
Rich dreams are yours for coming night,

And richer still for day.
Speed, speed my bark ! life's laughing seas

Are not as false as fair".
The white sail fills — cold blows the breeze,

And rocks have darkened there !

The voice of Autumn ! earth receives

The summons of decay :
Rustling around, the yellow leaves

Bestrew the wanderer's way.
No bloom or balm to cheer the hours ;

The blithe bird sings no more ;
Hoarse brawls the stream in forest bowers,

That murmured sweet before ;
Through the black woodland, dim and pale,

The dying hills appear ;
And hark! the moaning night-winds wail

The requiem of the year !

Hearts, where misfortune has effaced

The sunrise beams of youth, And cold experience truly traced,

“ Earth is no home for truth ; ? Fame, friendship, pleasure, - vainly bought

Love — wasted to a sigh —
Dark night descending - ere ye thought

The gentle evening nigh:
What hope remains ? 66 Lone Autumn's smile

To mourners kindly given, Wasted on changing earth a while,

Beams from unchanging heaven.”




I go, sweet friends ! yet think of me

When Spring's young voice awakes the flowers; For we have wandered far and free,

In those bright hours, the violet's hours.

I go, but when you pause to hear,

From distant hills, the Sabbath bell
On summer winds float silvery clear,

Think on me then - I loved it well!

Forget me not around your hearth,

When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze,
For dear hath been its evening mirth,

To me, sweet friends, in other days.

And 0, when music's voice is heard

To melt in strains of parting woe,
When hearts to love and grief are stirred,

Think of me then! I go, I go!


FAREWELL! farewell ! is often heard

From the lips of those who part;
'Tis a whispered tone — 'tis a gentle word,

But it springs not from the heart.
It may serve for the lover's closing lay,

To be sung 'neath a summer's sky;
But give to me the lips that say

The honest words “Good by!”

Adieu! adieu! may greet the ear,

In the guise of courtly speech;
But when we leave the kind and dear,

"Tis not what the soul would teach. Whene'er we grasp the hands of those

We would have forever nigh, l'he flame of friendship bursts and glows

In the warm, frank words - “Good by!”

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The mother, sending forth her child

To meet with cares and strife,
Breathes, through her tears, her doubts and fears

For the loved one's future life.
No cold “ adieu," no “ farewell;” lives

Within her choking sigh ;
But the deepest sob of anguish gives -

“God bless thee, boy ! good by!

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