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XIII.

THE PAINS OF MEMORY.

1.

WHEN Joy its fairest flowers hath shed, And even Hope's blossoms too are dead, Though Memory through the cloud of woe A momentary gleam may throw;

II.

'Tis but an ignis fatuus light,-
A fleeting vision, frail as bright,
That mocks awhile the mourner's sight
To leave his soul in tenfold night !

XIV.

THE SOUL THAT WAS SHROUDED.

I.

The soul that was shrouded in sorrow's dark night
A peace-promising beam woke to gladness and light;
And the lute, that so long lorn and tuneless had hung,
Once more with the wild notes of melody rung !

II.

Ah ! why did that beam only shine to beguile,-
Ah! why did it teach the fond mourner to smile ?
Why faithlessly grant him a seeming reprieve,
Then leave him in sadness still deeper to grieve?

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III.

The light is gone by—and the music is o'er,
And the feelings so lovely—are lovely no more;
That soul, once again, its dark vigils is keeping,
And the Lute ʼneath the cold chain of Silence is sleeping!

XV.

WHAT NEED OF YEARS-LONG YEARS TO PROVE?

I.

What need of years, long years to prove
The sense of Friendship or of Love?
What need of years to firmly bind
The social compact of the mind ?

II.

In youthful hearts of kindred mould,
Not slowly feeling's flowers unfold;
But oft-though 'neath a sky a gloom--
They burst to instantaneous bloom !

XVI.

CONSOLATION.

It is but lifeless perishable stuff
That moulders in the grave.

SOUTHEY

I.

LOOK

up,
look
up,
and

weep not so, thy darling is not dead, His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled

bed; His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of

endless bloom; It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb.

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