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Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see ;
Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone ;
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak :
Unless the heart could speak ?
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
Jamais nous ne verrions briller un jour serein,
THE ABSENT LOVER TO HIS
Summer was on the hills when last we parted,
Flowers in the vale, and beauty on the sky, Our hearts were true, although our hopes were
thwarted; Forward, with wistful eye, Scarce half-resign'd we look'd, yet thought how
sweet 'Twould be again in after months to meet. And months have pass'd: now the bright moon is
I pause, remembering thee,
Yes ! as we roam'd, the sylvan earth seem'd glowing
With many a beauty unremark'd before : The soul was like a deep urn overflowing
With thoughts a treasur'd store ; The very flowers seem'd born but to exhale, As breathed the West, their fragrance to the gale.
Methinks I see thee yet—thy form of lightness,
An angel phantom gliding through the trees, Thine alabaster brow, thy cheek of brightness,
Thy tresses in the breeze Floating their auburn, and thine
that made, So rich their blue, heaven's azure like a shade.
Methinks even yet I feel thy timid fingers,
With their bland pressure thrilling bliss to mine. Methinks yet on my cheek thy breathing lingers
As, fondly leant to thine, I told how life all pleasureless would be, Green palm-tree of earth's desert, wanting thee. Not yet, not yet, had disappointment shrouded Youth's summer calms with storms of wintry
And Fancy colour'd life
Where art thou now? I look around, but see not The features and the form that haunt
dreams! Where art thou now? I listen, but for me not
The deep, rich music streams
I miss thy smile, when morn's first light is bursting Through the
branches of the casement tree; To list thy voice my lonely ear is thirsting,
Beside the moonlight sea :
Yet should it cheer me, that nor woe hath shatter d The ties that link our hearts, nor Hate, nor
All shadows from our path ;
But for a moment looking bliss to me!
Is life deprived of thee :
Let Fortune change — be fickle Fate preparing
To shower her arrows, or to shed her balm,
With thee life's storm or calm ;
Yes I vainly, foolishly, the vulgar reckon
That Happiness resides in outward shows : Contentment from the lowliest cot
beckon True Love to sweet repose : For genuine bliss can ne'er be far apart, When soul meets soul, and heart responds to heart.
Farewell! let tyrannous Time roll on, estranging
and heart from each familiar spot : Be fickle friendships with the seasons changing,
So that thou changest not! I would not that the love, which owes its birth To heaven, should perish like the things of earth !Adieu ! as falls the flooding moonlight round me,
Fall Heaven's best joys on thy beloved head !
Flee from thy path and bed !
Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant