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He never turns, amid the throng,
Where colder ears will listen;
Once made his eyelids glisten ;
As looks less warm—more wise-do,
I often think his eyes do !
Oh! brighter smiles than mine may glass
His hours of mirth or sorrow;
Across his path to-morrow :
As stars through darkened skies do ;-
I often think his eyes do !
“L'on n'aime bien qu'une seule fois ; c'est la premierè. Les amours qui suivent sont moins involontaires !"-LA BRUYERE.
How shall I woo her !—I will stand
Beside her when she sings;
Flit o'er the quivering strings :
Though sweet her song may be,
How shall I woo her 2-I will gaze
In sad and silent trance On those blue eyes, whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance : And I will tell her, eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam, Will Aling a deeper spell to-night
Upon me in my dream.
The charms of olden time,
And rave in prose and rhyme : And I will tell her, when I bent,
My knee in other years,I was not half so eloquent,
I could not speak for tears !
How shall I woo her ?—I will bow
Before the holy shrine ;
And press her lips to mine;
From passion's thrilling kiss,
Is dearer far than bliss.
Away, away, the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain ;
Nor clasp those links again ;
Love's perjury is light sin; But souls that lose what I have lost,
What have they left to win?
HOPE AND LOVE.
One day through Fancy's telescope,
Which is my richest treasure,
Set out in search of pleasure :
Each was the other's banker ;
And Love, his sister's anchor.
They rambled on o'er vale and hill,
They passed by cot and tower ;
Through sunshine and through shower :
For climate, or for weather ?
On which they gazed together.
Sometimes they turned aside to bless
Some Muse and her wild numbers,
On Beauty's quiet slumbers :
“ I teach my friends to doubt you:” “ Come back," said Age, with bitter tears,
“My heart is cold without you."
When Poverty beset their path
And threatened to divide them,
Ere she had breath to chide them,
By vowing all her rags were silk,
And all her bitters, honey,
And utter scorn of money.
Upon a ruin seated ;
And armies had retreated :
As Love and Hope came near him, That though he thundered long and loud,
They did not see or hear him. A grey-beard joined them, Time by name;
And Love was nearly crazy
And also very lazy :
Tied wings upon his jacket;
And far outsailed the packet.
O'er many a land and billow,
Beneath a weeping willow :
Her softest light was flinging ;
Sad nightingales were singing. “I leave you here," quoth Father Time,
As hoarse as any raven ; And Love kneeled down to spell the rhyme
Upon the rude stone graven :
But Hope looked onward, calmly brave,
And whispered, “Dearest brotherWe're parted on this side the grave,
We'll meet upon the other.”
O’er yon Churchyard the storm may lower ;
But, heedless of the wintry air, One little bud shall linger there, A still and trembling flower.
Unscathed by long revolving years,
Its tender leaves shall flourish yet,
And sparkle in the moonlight, wet With the pale dew of tears.
And where thine humble ashes lie,
Instead of 'scutcheon or of stone,
It rises o'er thee, lonely one, Child of obscurity !
Mild was thy voice as Zephyr's breath,
Thy cheek with flowing locks was shaded !
But the voice hath died, the cheek hath faded In the cold breeze of death!