 | Poems |  |
18
IN IMITATION OF “THE ‘NAME UNKNOWN,’”
By Campbell—After Klopstock.
Where is the Wizard that will tell me true,Of all the beauteous female forms I meet,
In green suburban walk or crowded street,
While I the daily rounds of life pursue,
Which of them all shall journey with me through
The coming years, a helpmate kind and meet:
Where wons she now? or whither point her feet?
And whether tend they to or from my view?
What is she doing now? But is she nigh?
Or in what Eden do her steps delay?
Or have I missed her in the crowd?—O why
Should cruel fate thus with blind lovers play?
Perhaps she's in an early grave, and I
But follow vainly searching all the way.
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