And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,

Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear, When silent Sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more 'Twas thine to reck of human wo, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er, Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside; The smile none else might understand; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied, The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss so guiltless and refined

That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone that taught me to rejoice, When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song, celestial from thy voice, But sweet to me from none but thine; The pledge we wore-I wear it still, But where is thine?-ah, where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup of wo for me to drain:

If rest alone be in the tomb,

I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this

Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,

To wean me from mine anguish here.
Teach me too early taught by thee!
To bear, forgiving and forgiven:

On earth thy love was such to me;
It fain would form my hope in heaven!



Awar, away, ye notes of wo!

Be silent thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence, for, oh!

I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days-
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze

On what I am, on what I was.


The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Beloved dust! since dust thou art;

And all that once was harmony

Is worse than discord to my heart!


'Tis silent all!-but on my ear

The well-remember'd echoes thrill;

I hear a voice I would not hear,

A voice that now might well be still,
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake:
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.


Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A star that trembled o'er the deep,

Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
But he, who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath,
Will long lament the vanish'd ray

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.



ONE struggle more, and I am free

From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee,

Then back to busy life again.

It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleased before:

Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief can touch me more?


Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;

Man was not form'd to live alone:

I'll be that light unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none.

It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou'rt nothing, all are nothing now,


In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the wo that lurks beneath,
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.

Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;

Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,
The heart-the heart is lonely still!


On many a lone and lovely night
It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deem'd the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon-"
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!


When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said,

“That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!


My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When love and life alike were new!
How different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How tinged by time with sorrow's hue!
The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent-ah, were mine as still!
Though cold as e'en the dead can be,
I feel, it sickens with the chill.


Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast!
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt prest!
Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?



WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing

Wave gently o'er my dying bed!


No band of friends, or heirs be there,
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevell❜d hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous wo.

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