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Thy day without a cloud hath past, And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.


As once I wept, if I could weep

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed ;
To gaze, how fondly on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.


Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity,

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.



If sometimes in the haunts of men

Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.


Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,

I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,

Unfaithful to thy Memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine,
I would not fools should overhear

One sigh that should be wholly thine.


If not the Goblet pass unquaff’d,

It is not drain'd to banish care,
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,

That brings a Lethe for despair.

And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drown'd a single thought of thee.


For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind

To honour thine abandon'd Urn? No, No-it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside,

'Tis meet that I remember still.


For well I know, that such had been

Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,

Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, Oh! I feel in that was given

A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly Love to merit thee.




ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be

That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ?
Have years of care for thine and thee

Alike been all employ'd in vain ?


Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,

And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee, feels thou art

A fitter emblem of his own.

[Tbis poem and the following were written some years ago.]


Few years

have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same.

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But now, like me, too well thou know'st

What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most

Too soon forget they loved at all.

And such the change the heart displays,

So frail is early friendship’s reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,

Will view thy mind estranged again.

If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,

Which made thee fickle as thou art.


As rolls the ocean's changing tide,

So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide

Where stormy passions ever glow ?


It boots not, that together bred,

Our childish days were days of joy ;
My spring of life has quickly fled;

Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.

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