 | The Village Churchyard |  |
137
THE MEETING.
Oh! do me right—mine own beloved,
Do right unto this heart of mine—
Nor deem 't would be thus deeply moved,
At any grief or pain but thine!
Do right unto this heart of mine—
Nor deem 't would be thus deeply moved,
At any grief or pain but thine!
'T is true my dearest hopes depart,
Bowed, blighted, by the change I see;
But 't is more dreadful to my heart,
Since such change is not all to me.
Bowed, blighted, by the change I see;
But 't is more dreadful to my heart,
Since such change is not all to me.
Alas! a change,—dark change hath come
O'er thy smooth cheek, o'er thy clear eye!
A shade of care—a touch of gloom,
How can I bear thy misery?
O'er thy smooth cheek, o'er thy clear eye!
A shade of care—a touch of gloom,
How can I bear thy misery?
138
Would, would the change were but to me,
I 'd then endured the coldest greeting;
But thus to find grief martyring thee,
This makes the madness of our meeting!
I 'd then endured the coldest greeting;
But thus to find grief martyring thee,
This makes the madness of our meeting!
I had endured a parting too,
Cold as ev'n thy heart hath become;
Alas, it is so wildly true,
That Love and thee contrive my doom!
Cold as ev'n thy heart hath become;
Alas, it is so wildly true,
That Love and thee contrive my doom!
I had endured all, all but this
Unmurmuringly endured, and brooked;
And gazing but on thy dear bliss—
Mine own despair had overlooked.
Unmurmuringly endured, and brooked;
And gazing but on thy dear bliss—
Mine own despair had overlooked.
Now all is worse than woe to me,
Fond martyr of no selfish feeling;
Ah! 't is not Happiness—'t is thee
I love and prize past all revealing!
Fond martyr of no selfish feeling;
Ah! 't is not Happiness—'t is thee
I love and prize past all revealing!
| The Village Churchyard | |