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 Shrinks from the force or from the fraud For thou hast learned to watch, and wake, And thou art very bold to take I cannot tell; the charm was wrought The lips are lightly begged or bought,— "Yet thine the brightest smiles shall be That ever Beauty wore; And one shall give-perchance hath given— 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! "Go, set thy boat before the blast, Or muse upon thy country's laws, And patriot hands shall sound applause, And lovely lips be mute. Go, dig the diamond from the wave, Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,- "I charm thee from the agony From doubt, and from disdain; And shake the head at truth: Be thou from woman's love as free (1825.) JOSEPHINE. We did not meet in courtly hall, We met where darker spirits meet, 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, But merrily rides my bark, Love - She did not speak of ring or vow, And took the roses from her brow 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, I would not, could I choose, restore 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! Alas! your lips are rosier, And I have never felt for her Our love was like the bright snow-flakes, Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks You saw these eye-lids wet, Love, Which she has never seen; But bid me not forget, Love, (1826.) |