For there are woes that wring the breast
When Feeling's fount is dry;-

Sorrows that do not fade with years,
But-dwelling all too deep for tears-
Rankle eternally !—

Such now as in my bosom swell,

Read thou in this wild word,-FAREWELL!

H

TO A POETICAL FRIEND.

Be not over exquisite

To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;

For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
Why need a man forestall his date of grief,

And run to meet what he would most avoid?

MILTON.

I.

ALL hail, dear friend!—The winds are singing

The year's wild requiem, fitfully;

And Autumn, now, is swiftly winging

Her golden flight, o'er the heaving sea, To some lovelier clime than this:-in sadness Of heart, I gaze on her farewell beam;— But away! This strain shall be one of gladness! I'll startle thee not with a selfish theme!

II.

All hail, dear friend !-Though clouds may lour, And wintry storms descend awhile,

Ere long shall Spring resume her

power,

And Summer come on with her radiant smile.

Then a truce to gloom ;-though a shade of sorrow
May darken our beams of bliss to-day,—
Heed it not!-Joy's sun will rise to-morrow,
And chase each deepening tint away!

III.

Shall we, whose hearts of warmth and feeling
Vibrate to Pleasure's tenderest touch,

Supinely grieve, that Fate's hand is stealing
Some flowers of life-we have loved too much?
Shalt THOU who cleav'st, with eagle pinion,
The loftiest skies that GENIUS knows,
Stoop thy plume of pride to the base dominion
Of each ruffian blast that beneath thee blows?

IV.

Forbid it, YE who prompt the numbers

That soothe the Bard in his wildest mood!Forbid it, YE who on his slumbers

In dreams of glory and light intrude! No;-hearts that each thrill of joy may waken Should bear, unmurmuring, Sorrow's sting; Nor GENIUS from its height be shaken

By every buffet from Fortune's wing!

FORGET THEE? NO, NEVER!

Wrong thee, Bianca? No, not for the earth!

Not for earth's brightest!

MILMAN.

FORGET thee?—No, never!-Why cherish a thought
Towards the friend of thy soul, with injustice so fraught?
Why embitter our fast-fading moments of bliss
By suspicion so wild and unfounded as this?

Forget thee?-No, never!-Among the light-hearted,
Love

may sink to decay when the fond ones are parted; But affection like ours is too deep and sublime, To be chilled in its ardour by absence or time; Then, gentle one, banish all doubt from thy breast: By the kiss that so late on thy lips I impressed,By the griefs that have blighted the bloom of my years,— By the hope that still calls forth a smile thro' my tears,—