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I hear thy whisper—and the warm tears gush Into mine eyes, the quick pulse thrills my heart!
Thou bid'st the peace, the reverential hush, The still submission from my thoughts depart.
Dear one! this must not be.
The past looks on me from thy mournful eye, The beauty of our free and vernal days,
Our communings with sea, and hill, and sky, Oh! take that bright world from my spirit's gaze!
Thou art all earth to me!
Shut out the sunshine from my dying room, The jasmine's breath, the murmur of the bee;
Let not the joy of bird-notes pierce the gloom, They speak of life, of summer, and of thee
Too much-and death is here!
Doth our own spring make happy music now,
Are the broad lilies imaged in its flow?
From the dread hour so near!
If I could but draw courage from the light Of thy clear eye, that ever shone to bless!
-Not now! 't will not be now!-my aching sight Drinks from that fount a flood of tenderness
Bearing all strength away!
Leave me! thou comest between my heart and
Why must our souls thus love, and thus be riven! --Return!-thy parting wakes my agony!
Oh! yet awhile delay!
THE YOUNG MOTHER.
SHE stands amidst the glittering crowd,
The same in form and face, As when at first her sweet cheek glow'd,
Even in this very place, The same bright tresses bind her brow,
The same rich pearls her hair, Her lip is just as roseate now,
Her hands as soft and fair.
She looks the same young radiant bride
As when we saw her first,
Upon our eyes she burst;
Upon her husband's arm:
With every faultless charm.
Yet there's a change-her eyes are still
Most beautiful and bright;
With softer, tenderer light.
But just as musical;
Than a fountain's laughing fall
Still, still she smiles as radiantly,
When friends are speaking near: But in her smile there's less of glee
And more of bliss sincere. "T is not the brilliant scene around
That her quiet heart beguiles: In her pure spirit may be found
The fountain of her smiles.
Now, ever and anon, her eye
Is fix'd on vacancy,
For, 'midst the revelry,
Or its murmuring in its sleep;
When such visions o'er her creep.
She wearies for her home,
Will never, never come!
That would too quickly flow,-.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
There is not a grand inspiring thought,
And the cabinet must ope!
Things of grief-of joy and hope.
To thy care I hence intrust;
But reduce them all to dust!
It was gaily fill'd and sent;
Here! devouring element.
Friendship took a colder form:
May the blaze be live and warm!
Never more must meet my view:
Let the memory perish too!
Here comes up the blotted leaf,
Blister'd o'er by many a tear!
Go, for ever, disappear!
Warm'd the breast and lit the eye:
And its transcript so must I!
When I saw the solemn yew,
'T was a heart-string snapt in two!
High as heaven and true as light;
Spare, O, mercy! spare the sight
While I take it, hand and name,
Of the purifying flame!
And the soul is in the skies,
Cold remains of sunder'd ties !
Once the treasures of my heart!
ODE ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,
The peace of Heaven attend thy shade,