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Time has not blanched a single hair

That clusters round thy forehead now; Nor hath the cankering touch of Care

Left even one furrow on thy brow. Thine eyes are blue as when we met,

In love's deep truth, in earlier years; Thy cheek of rose is blooming yet,

Though sometimes stained by secret tears ;But where, oh where's the spirit’s glow That shone through all-ten years ago ?


I, too, am changed—I scarce know why;

Can feel each flagging pulse decay, And youth, and health, and visions high,

Melt like a wreath of snow away! Time cannot sure have wrought the ill ;

Though worn in this world's sickening strife In soul and form,--I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below,
Oh ! how unlike-ten years ago !


But, look not thus,--I would not give

The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive,

When all around me seemed so fair. We've wandered on in sunny weather,

When winds were low and flowers in bloom,
And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom ;
Endeared by ties we could not know,
When life was young-ten years ago!

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Has Fortune frowned ?-Her frowns were vain,

For hearts like ours she could not chill!
Have friends proved false? --Their love might wane,-

But ours grew fonder, firmer still!


Twin barks on this world's changing wave,

Stedfast in calms--in tempests tried,
In concert still our fate we'll brave,

Together cleave life's fitful tide ;
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams ten years ago!


Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watched our first-born blossom die? Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled,

Then wept till feeling's fount was dry ? Was it not soothing in that hour

To think, ʼmid mutual tears and sighs,
Our bud had left its earthly bower,

And burst to bloom in Paradise ?
What, to the thought that soothed that woe,
Were heartless joys-ten years ago?


Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright,

To share its sunny beams with thee! But sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight,

To have thee near to weep with me. Then dry those tears,—though something changed

From what we were in earlier youth, Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged,

Hath left us love in all its truth; Sweet feelings we would not forego, For life's best joysten years ago!

February, 1824.



Who can bring healing to her heart's despair,
Her whole rich sum of happiness lies there!


Pale is his cheek with deep and passionate thought,
Save when a feverish hectic crosses it,
Flooding its lines with crimson. From beneath.
The long dark fringes of its drooping lid
Flash forth the fitful glances of his eye,
Like star-beams from the bosom of the night.
Above his high and ample forehead, float
The gloomy folds of his wild-waving hair,
Even as the clouds that crown a lofty hill
With sterner grandeur. On that quivering lid
The swelling brow weighs heavily, as though
Bursting with thoughts for utterance too intense !

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