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A SKETCH.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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A SKETCH.

Regardless of the storm, I'll watch thee still,
And give no motive but spontaneous will:
I've loved, I love thee, when thy sun was bright,
My heart was changeless, and thy step was light.
Thinkst thou I smiled, officious but to lure,
The love, that well I knew was mine before?
Thinkst thou my heart form'd in a baser mould,
When others scorn'd and slighted, could grow cold?
No, my fond soul more proudly rose o'er fate,
Still did it love thee, and thou still wert great!
When all conspired to wound thee, thou wert sad,

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And well thou know'st, my bosom was not glad.
Thou com'st at ev'ning, o'er thy weary brow,
I mark the clouds descend—I see them now:
That smile confirms me, 'tis a sickly hue,
It cannot bribe me, 'tis not worthy you!
Is not my bosom thine? tho' fortune change;
(And it has changed with you) 'twill never range:
Am I a burden to thee—thou art poor,
Then let me share thy lot, I ask no more:
The humblest pittance and the brownest bread,
The coarsest, lowliest cot or meanest shed,
So that with thee I share it, and thy brow
Wear a less doubtful shade than it doth now,
Is all I ask—nay, turn not thus aside,
I am thy other self, thine own, thy bride,
Her, whom thou said'st thou lov'dst and loved alone,
E'en when the plenty of this life were gone!
Come now, thou'rt ruined, 'twas a painful fall,
I see it in thy looks and know it all;
Thou can'st not cheat me with that stammer'd tale,
Thy tongue is truth's, and speaking else must fail.
Yet, if thy fortune hath been thus unkind,
Have we not stores of love, rich love behind?
Thou once desired no more, and deem not, I

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So that thou lov'st me still, will ever sigh
For all its splendor—'twas a gaudy glare,
That we may see, and yet notwish to share—
Come let us seek our cottage—dost thou smile?
Then am I truly blest; it is no wile,
No fond deceit to lure me—I am blest,
That smile is Truth's, and peace now fills thy breast;
Now is my bosom happy; rest thy face
Upon my heart, and grow to my embrace!