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In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to woe; For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
To prove thee—not Eternity.
A blank; a thing to count and curse
Which all regret, yet all rehearse. One scene even thou canst not deform;
The limit of thy sloth or speed, When future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed: And I can smile to think how weak
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon-a nameless stone.
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.
Ah! Love was never yet without
Without one friend to hear my woe,
Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net,
A bird of free and careless wing
Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
My light of life! ah, tell me why
Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
My curdling blood, my madd’ning brain,
Pour me the poison; fear not thou !
My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
1. Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought: 'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest.
The wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit; But she who not a thought disguises,
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,When she can change who loved so truly, It feels what mine has felt so newly.
To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
Is doom'd to all who love or live; And if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our fancy can forgive,