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And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear, When silent Sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more 'Twas thine to reck of human wo, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er, Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow. 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
I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
To wean me from mine anguish here.
Awar, away, ye notes of wo!
Be silent thou once soothing strain,
I dare not trust those sounds again.
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!
'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,
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
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.
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?
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,
In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,
On many a lone and lovely night
When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,
My life, when Thyrza, ceased to live!
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new!
Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring
No band of friends, or heirs be there,