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To * * * * * *
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest—and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when th' unconscious infant smiled,
I kissed it, for its mother's sake.
I kissed it, and repressed my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou 'art blest I'll not repine ; But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deemed that time, I deemed that pride
Had quenched at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there : One only feeling could’st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.
From the Portuguese.
In moments to delight devoted,
“My life!" with tend'rest tone, you cry; Dear words! on which my heart had doted,
If youth could neither fade nor die. To death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never; Or change “ my life!” into “ my soul!"
Which, like my love, exists for ever.