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"Tis silent all!-but on my ear
A voice that now might well be still.
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
Must pass when heaven is veil'd in wrath,
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.
December 6, 1831
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.
ONE struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
With things that never pleased before :
What future grief can touch me more?
That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It never would have been, but thou
Thou'rt nothing-all are nothing now.
The smile that sorrow fain would wear
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
It soothed to gaze upon the sky;
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!
When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, "Tis comfort still," I faintly said,
"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:'
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as e'en the dead can be,
It feels, it sickens with the chill.
Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Though painful, welcome to my breast! Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt press'd Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled : Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?
WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep or wish the coming blow; No maiden, with dishevell'd hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth,
With no officious mourners near; I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check its useless signs, Might then exert its latest power
In her who lives and him who dies.
"Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past,
E'en Pain itself should smile on thee,
But vain the wish-for Beauty still
Then lonely be my latest hour,
"Ay, but to die, and go," alas!
Ere born to life and living woe.
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AS FAIL
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse !'
AND thou art dead, as young and fair,
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
There is an eye which could not brook
I will not ask where thou liest low,
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
It is enough for me to prove
Yet did I love thee to the last
Who didst not change through all the past,
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not seo
The better days of life were ours;
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
That all those charms have pass'd away;
SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.
IF sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
That then I seem not to repine;
If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thes.
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
To honour thine abandon'd Urn?
That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside,
"Tis meet that I remember still.
For well I know, that such had been
Where none regarded him, but thou:
A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of heaven, For earthly Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812