Then might I see thee as thou art, But can it be? She has no part In all she loved beneath the steadfast pole. REPLY. AH! well it is, since she is gone, She can return no more, To see the face so dim and wan, Familiar things would all seem strange, Is all the world below. The very hills, they are not now Ye deem the dead are ashy pale, But what are ye, who live to wail, She pass'd away, like morning dew, So brief her time, she scarcely knew As round the rose its soft perfume, Love was her guardian Angel here, FRAGMENT. WHAT is the life of man? From first to last, Its only substance, the unbeing past! The infant smiling in its sleep must dream The child, through every maze of wakening lore, Yet wishing, hoping nought, but what has been. But what has been ? But how, and when, and where? Was there a time, when, wandering in the air, The living spark existed, yet unnamed, Unfixt, unqualitied, unlaw'd, unclaim'd, A drop of being, in the infinite sea, Whose only duty, essence, was to be? Or must we seek it, where all things we find, . In the sole purpose of creative mind? Or did it serve, in form of stone or plant, Or weaving worm, or the wise politic ant, Its weary bondage-ere the moment came, When the weak spark should mount into a flame? ΤΟ I LOVE thee-none may know how well, Whate'er thou lov'st it is not thine, But 'tis thyself then sad it were, love, Should weep, repent,-mayhap, despair-love. Then love me not-thou canst not scorn; And mind-I do not bid thee hate me; And if I die, oh, do not mourn, EXPERTUS LOQUITUR. "'TIS SAD EXPERIENCE SPEAKS." THERE never was a blessing, or a curse, With dulcet murmuring, all a summer's day, Pleased with himself, and pleased with all mankind, Pass some few years-and see where all will end. Sing in his garret of the flowery grove, And pinch'd with hunger, wail the woes of love. |