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My sleep must be the unwaking sleep,
Though time hath not wreathed
My temples with snow,
A spell o'er my brow,
Press on me with pain ;
And lingers in vain.
which behold thee,
Enfeebled are grown:
By fortune estranged;
For thou, too, art changed !
Yes, dark ills have clouded
The dawning in tears ;
My ripening years :
Draws nigh to its close ;
I sigh for repose.
The world shall caress thee
When I cease to be;
Which smile not for me :
And bend at thy shrine ;
So truly as mine.
WHERE IS HE ?
And where is he ? Not by the side
Of her whose wants he loved to tend; Not o'er those valleys wandering wide,
Where, sweetly lost, he oft would wend;
That form beloved he marks no more,
Those scenes admired no more shall see ; Those scenes are lovely as before,
And she as fair ;--but where is he?
No, no; the radiance is not dim,
That used to gild his favourite hill ; The pleasures that were dear to him,
Are dear to life and nature still : But, ah ! his home is not as faire,
Neglected must his gardens be, The lilies droop and wither there,
And seem to whisper,' where is her
His was the pomp, the crowded hall, i
But where is now this proud display! His riches, honours, pleasures, all,
Desire could frame ; but where are they? And he, as some tall rock that stands
Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands,
Seemed proudly strong--and where is be?
The churchyard bears an added stone,
The fireside shows a vacant chair ; Here sadness dwells, and weeps alone,
And death displays his banner there :
The life is gone, the breath has fled,
And what has been no more shall be ; The well-known form, the welcome tread,
O where are they, and where is he?
THE FICKLENESS OF LOVE.
Alas I-how light a cause may move
A word unkind or wrongly taken0! love, that tempests never shook,
A breath, 'a touch like this has shaken
And voices lose the tone that shed
As though its waters ne'er could sever, Yet, ere it reach the plains below,
Breaks into floods that part for ever.
O you that have the charge of love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound, As in the fields of bliss above
He sits, with flowerets fettered round: Loose not a tie that round him clings,
Nor ever let him use his wings;
Is found below far eastern skies, Whose wings, though radiant when at rest,
Lose all their glory when he flies ! Some difference of this dangerous kind,By which, though light, the links that bind