Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb, I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss, To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me too early taught by thee! To bear, forgiving and forgiven: On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heaven! STANZAS. 1. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence, for, oh! I dare not trust those sounds again. I must not think, I may not gaze 2. The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony Is worse than discord to my heart! 3. "Tis silent all!-but on my ear The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear, A voice that now might well be still, Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake: Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake To listen, though the dream be flown. 4. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, A star that trembled o'er the deep, Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. But he, who through life's dreary way Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. TO THYRZA. 1. ONE struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before : Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? 2. Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; Man was not form'd to live alone: I'll be that light unmeaning thing That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here; 3. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! The smile that sorrow fain would wear Though gay companions o'er the bowl Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, 4. On many a lone and lovely night 5. When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains :" |