Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear, Till all was past? But when no more 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 refin'd That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Ev'n passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice, But sweet to me from none but thine; But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup of woe 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! On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heav'n! XIII. STANZAS. 1. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent thou once soothing strain, I dare not trust those sounds again. 2. 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! 3. "Tis silent all!-but on my ear I hear a voice I would not hear, A voice that now might well be still. Till consciousness will vainly wake 4. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, 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 heav'n is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. 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 pleas'd before: Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? |