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III.

Leave me now, love,-leave me now!

Not with sorrow, not with sighs ;
Not with clouds, love, on thy brow,

Not with tears, love, in thine eyes ;
We shall meet, we know not where,

And be blest, we dream not how;
With a kiss, and with a prayer,

Leave me now, love, leave me now!

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THE RUNAWAY.

Dark clouds are shading

The day,—the day;
Sunlight is fading

Away,—away;
I've won from the warden

The key,—the key,
And the steed's in the garden

For me,-for me.

II.

Locks of my mother,

So white,-so white,Frowns of my father,

Good night,-good night! From turret and tower

I'm free,-- I'm free, And your rage has no power

O'er me,-o'er me.

III.

Shriller is grieving

The blast,—the blast;

Lo, the waves heaving

At last,—at last!
'Twas here he, the bold one,

Should be,--should be;
And lingers he, cold one ?

Ah, me !-ah, me!

IV.

Vain is thy chiding,

For hark !—for hark!
Hither 'tis gliding

The bark,—the bark!
Joyously over

The sea,—the sea
She'll waft my brave lover

With me,—with me!

(APRIL, 1832.)

LONG AGO.

We were children together! Oh, brighter than mine

Are the eyes that are looking their love on you now; And nobler than I are the maidens that twine The scarf for your breast, and the wreath for your

brow. Be happy, my brother, wherever you will;

Good speed to your courser, good luck to your bow; But will you not—will you not think of me still,

As you thought of me once,—long ago-long ago ?

II. We were children together! I know you will dream

Of the rock and the valley, the cottage and tree, Of the bird on the brake, of the boat on the stream,

Of the book and the lute, of my roses and me: When Pleasure deceives you, and young Hope

departs, And the pulse of Ambition beats weary and low, My brother—my brother-come back to our hearts;

Let us be what we were,—long ago-long ago!

(AUGUST, 1832.)

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

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I REMEMBER—I remember

How my childhood fleeted by,-
The mirth of its December,

And the warmth of its July;
On my brow, love-on my brow, love,

There are no signs of care;
But my pleasures are not now, love,

What Childhood's pleasures were.

Then the bowers—then the bowers

Were blithe as blithe could be ; And all their radiant flowers

Were coronals for me:
Gems to-night, love-gems to-night, love,

Are gleaming in my hair ;
But they are not half so bright, love,

As Childhood's roses were.

III.
I was singing—I was singing,

And my songs were idle words ;

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