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Yet while the rivers seek the sea,

And while the young stars shine, No woman's love shall light on thee,

No woman's heart be thine!

“ And 'tis not that thy spirit, awed

By Beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force or from the fraud

Which Beauty loves so well;
For thou hast learned to watch, and wake,

And swear by earth and sky;
And thou art very bold to take

What we must still deny:
I cannot tell;—the charm was wrought

By other threads than mine;
The lips are lightly begged or bought,-

The heart may not be thine !

“ Yet thine the brightest smiles shall be

That ever Beauty wore;
And confidence from two or three,

And compliments from more;
And one shall give-perchance hath given-

What only is not love,-
Friendship,—oh! such as saints in Heaven

Rain on us from above:
If she shall meet thee in the bower,

Or name thee in the shrine,
O wear the ring and guard the flower!

Her heart may not be thine!

“Go, set thy boat before the blast,

Thy breast before the gun;
The haven shall be reached at last,

The battle shall be won :
Or muse upon thy country's laws,

Or strike thy country's lute;
And patriot hands shall sound applause,

And lovely lips be mute.
Go, dig the diamond from the wave,

The treasure from the mine;
Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,-

No woman's heart is thine!

“I charm thee from the agony

Which others feel or feign;
From anger, and from jealousy,

From doubt, and from disdain ;
I bid thee wear the scorn of years

Upon the cheek of youth,
And curl the lip at Passion's tears,

And shake the head at truth:
While there is bliss in revelry,

Forgetfulness in wine,
Be thou from woman's love as free

As woman is from thine !"

(1825.)

JOSEPHINE.

We did not meet in courtly hall,

Where Birth and Beauty throng,
Where Luxury holds festival,

And wit awakes the song ;
We met where darker spirits meet,

In the home of Sin and Shame,
Where Satan shows his cloven feet,

And hides his titled name;
And she knew she could not be, Love,

What once she might have been,
But she was kind to me, Love,

My pretty Josephine.

We did not part beneath the sky,

As warmer lovers part, Where Night conceals the glistening eye,

But not the throbbing heart; We parted on the spot of ground

Where we first had laughed at love, And ever the jests were loud around,

And the lamps were bright above :

“ The heaven is very dark, Love,

The blast is very keen,
But merrily rides my bark, Love -

Good night, my Josephine !"

She did not speak of ring or vow,

But filled the cup of wine,
And took the roses from her brow

To make a wreath for mine;
And bade me, when the gale should liñ

My light skiff o'er the ware,
To think as little of the gift

As of the hand that gave: “Go gaily o’er the sea, Love,

And find your own heart's queen ; And look not back to me, Love,

Your humble Josephine !"

That garland breathes and blooms no more,

Past are those idle hours ;
I would not, could I choose, restore

The fondness or the flowers ;
Yet oft their withered witchery

Revives its wonted thrill, Remembered—not with Passion's sigh,

But oh ! remembered still : And even from your side, Love,

And even from this scene, One look is o'er the tide, Love,

One thought with Josephine !

ed thrill,

Alas ! your lips are rosier,

Your eyes of softer blue,
And I have never felt for her

As I have felt for you;
Our love was like the bright snow-flakes,

Which melt before you pass-
Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks

Before you lip the glass.
You saw these eye-lids wet, Love,

Which she has never seen ;
But bid me not forget, Love,

My poor Josephine! (1826.)

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