The morning's glowing charioteer Rides proudly up the blushing sky; But when the waning moonbeam sleeps At moonlight on that lonely lea, And nature's pensive spirit weeps In all her dews, remember me.
Remember me, I pray-but not In Flora's gay and blooming hour,
When every brake hath found its note, And sunshine smiles in every flower; But when the falling leaf is sear,
And withers sadly from the tree, And o'er the ruins of the year
Cold Autumn weeps, remember me.
Remember me-but choose not, dear, The hour when, on the gentle lake, The sportive wavelets, blue and clear, Soft rippling, to the margin break; But when the deaf'ning billows foam In madness o'er the pathless sea, Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam Across them, and remember me.
Remember me-but not to join
If haply some thy friends should praise; 'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine,
To echo what the stranger says.
They know us not-but shouldst thou meet Some faithful friend of me and thee, Softly, sometimes, to him repeat
My name, and then remember me.
Remember me-not, I entreat,
In scenes of festal week-day joy,
For then it were not kind or meet,
Thy thought thy pleasure should alloy;
But on the sacred, solemn day,
And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Sweet spirit, then remember me.
Remember me-but not as I
On thee for ever, ever dwell,
With anxious heart and drooping eye,
And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell;
But in thy calm, unclouded heart,
Where dark and gloomy visions flee,
Oh there, my sister, be my part,
And kindly there remember me.
BEAUTY has gone, but yet her mind is still As beautiful as ever; still the play
Of light around her lips has every charm Of childhood in its freshness: Love has the Stamped his unfading impress, and the hues Of fancy shine around her, as the sun Gilds at his setting some decaying tower, With feathered moss and ivy overgrown. I knew her in the dawning of her charms. When the new rose first opened, and its swe No wind had wasted. She was of those for Appelles might have painted for the Queen Of loveliness and love-light as the fays Dancing on glimmering dew-drops, when the Rides in her silver softness, and the world Is calm and brightly beautiful below.
She was all mildness, and the melting tone
Of her sweet voice thrilled me and seemed to flow
Into my soul, a stream of melody,
Delicious in its mellowness; it spake
A heart at ease-and then the quiet smile Sat playing on her lips, that, pouting, spread Their vermil freshness forth, as if to ask The kiss of him she smiled on. In her eye Gentleness had its dwelling, and light Mirth Glanced out in sudden flashes, and keen Wit Shot arrows which delighted, while they stung. She was a young Medusa, ere she knew The evil of a world that watched to blast Her loveliness, and make it terrible; Striking a dead cold horror on the heart Of him who saw the fairest of all things,
A lovely woman, made the common prey Of lawless passion-but it touched not HER: No mist breathed o'er her brightness; but the pure Full light of virtue rested there, and shed New lustre on the light that ever came Through her transparent features, and revealed Each movement of the soul that swelled within: And they were all of Heaven-such high desires As angels had been proud of pure as light In its primeval fountain, ere it flowed To mingle with the elements, and lose
Its perfect clearness. She was as a flower
New opened in a valley, where no foot Had trodden, and no living thing had left Print of the world's pollution: there she blew Fragrant and lovely, and a parent's hand Shielded her from the winds that blast, or bring Poison upon their wings, and taint the heart Left open to their influence. Shielded there, She ripened all her treasures, and became Full-blown and rich in her maturity— The dwelling of a spirit, not of earth, But ever mingling with the pure and high Conceptions of a soul that spreads its wings
To fly where Mind, when boldest, dared to soar. And though the form has withered, and the bloom Has faded, she is lovely; for the sounds
That issue from her lips, and flow around In liquid eloquence, are oracles
Of more than ancient wisdom, or they speak Portions of that full hymn of Poesy,
Which ever rises when a mind on fire
Blends with the majesty of outward things;
And with the glories of a boundless Heaven, And a rich earth, and ever-rolling sea Communing, swells to that ineffable
Fruition, which in hope will never end.
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