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Poems

By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston

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VIII. LAUSANNE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


241

VIII. LAUSANNE.

Time slowly knits the strongest ties,
No ardent heat at first I felt;
But slowly did her tender eyes
To love the snow of friendship melt.
I play'd no wild enthusiast's part;
Her outward beauty scarce address'd;
She charm'd me by the noble heart
That beat beneath her modest breast.
In after years of wedded life
Her virtues taught me all their claim;
'Twas not the mistress, but the wife
Of whom the lover I became.
Yet—shall remorse the truth avow?
Her form is now but mouldering earth;
And now, alas! and only now,
I know Jemima's utmost worth.

242

So when the sacred light of Heaven
Has first illumined infant eyes,
The child enjoys the blessing given,
Unconscious how divine a prize.
As reason wins by slow degrees
Dominion o'er the ductile mind,
Delighted more the more he sees,
He blesses God he is not blind.
But, if the curse of blindness seals
His orbs, and blots the world from sight,
O then the victim fully feels
The value of the blessed light.