2.

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,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou'rt nothing, all are nothing now.

3.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,

Like roses o'er a sepulchre.

Though gay companions o'er the bowl

Dispel awhile the sense of ill;

Though pleasure fires the madd'ning soul,

The heart-the heart is lonely still!

4.

On many a lone and lovely night
It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deem'd the heav'nly light

Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,

When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, "Now Thyrza gazes on that moonAlas, it gleam'd upon her grave!

5.

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 :" Like freedom to the time-worn slave,

A boon 'tis idle then to give,

Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceas'd to live!

Q

6.

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new!
How different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How ting'd 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.

7.

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 prest! 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?

XV.

EUTHANASIA.

1.

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!

2.

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.

3.

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 fear.

4.

Yet Love, if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check its useless sighs,
Might then exert its latest power

In her who lives and him who dies.

.5.

'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.