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Wand'rings far away from home,
Greetings warm, when home we come,
From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er us. Tears starting,
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some!
To some, how bright and fleeting!
WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.
HEN first I met thee, warm and young,
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
The heart whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story;
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
Some day, perhaps, thou 'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
The few, who loved thee once, have fled,
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Go-go-though worlds were thine,
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendour.
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go-go-'tis vain to curse,
"Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE.
(A BUFFO SONG.)
HERE'S something strange, I know not what,
Some phantom I've for ever got
I look on high, and in the sky
On earth, its light with all things bright
In vain I try this goblin's spells
Go where I will, it round me dwells
And then what tricks by day and night
In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite
Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat,
By whispers round of every sort
Never was mortal man, in short,
THEN FIRST FROM LOVE.
HEN first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs,
To picture woman lovelier still.
Till Passion lent a soul to art,
Thus smooth his toil awhile went on,
But who could dare to paint those eyes?
"T was all in vain the painter strove ;
So turning to that boy divine,
"Here take," he said, "the pencil, Love,
No hand should paint such eyes but thine."