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Shall they not flow, when many a day

In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside;

The smile none else might understand ; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied,

The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss so guiltless and refined

That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,

Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,

When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song, celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from none but thine; The pledge we wore-I wear it still,

But where is thine?-ah, where art thou ? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now ! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom

The cup of wo 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!

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Away, away, ye notes of wo!

Be silent thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence, for, oh!

I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days-

But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze

On what I am, on what I was.

The voice that made those sounds more sweet

Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled;
And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,

Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart !

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'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.


Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dream; 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.



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.

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