Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS. |
 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
105
ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS.
And slight withal may be the things that bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever.
BYRON.
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever.
BYRON.
Relics of love, and life's enchanted spring,
Of hopes, born rainbow-like of smiles and tears,
With trembling hand do I unloose the string
Twined 'round the records of my youthful years.
Of hopes, born rainbow-like of smiles and tears,
With trembling hand do I unloose the string
Twined 'round the records of my youthful years.
106
Yet why preserve memorials of a dream
Too bitter-sweet to breathe of aught but pain;
Why court fond memory for a fitful gleam
Of faded bliss, that cannot bloom again!
Too bitter-sweet to breathe of aught but pain;
Why court fond memory for a fitful gleam
Of faded bliss, that cannot bloom again!
The thoughts and feelings these sad relics bring
Back on my heart, I would not now recall:
Since holier ties around its pulses cling,
Shall spells less hallowed hold them still in thrall!
Back on my heart, I would not now recall:
Since holier ties around its pulses cling,
Shall spells less hallowed hold them still in thrall!
Can withered hopes that never came to flower,
Match with affections long and dearly tried;
Love, that has lived through many a stormy hour,
Through good and ill, and time and change defied!
Match with affections long and dearly tried;
Love, that has lived through many a stormy hour,
Through good and ill, and time and change defied!
Perish each record that might wake a thought
That would be treason to a faith like this!
Why should the spectres of past joys be brought
To fling their shadows o'er my present bliss!
That would be treason to a faith like this!
Why should the spectres of past joys be brought
To fling their shadows o'er my present bliss!
Yet, ere we part for ever, let me pay
A last, fond tribute to the sainted dead;
Mourn o'er these wrecks of passion's earlier day,
With tears as wild as once I used to shed.
A last, fond tribute to the sainted dead;
Mourn o'er these wrecks of passion's earlier day,
With tears as wild as once I used to shed.
107
What gentle words are flashing on my eye!
What tender truths in every line I trace!
Confessions, penned with many a deep-drawn sigh;
Hopes, like the Dove, with but one resting-place.
What tender truths in every line I trace!
Confessions, penned with many a deep-drawn sigh;
Hopes, like the Dove, with but one resting-place.
How many a feeling, long, too long, represt,
Like autumn flowers, here opened out at last;
How many a vision of the lonely breast,
Its cherished radiance on these leaves hath cast!
Like autumn flowers, here opened out at last;
How many a vision of the lonely breast,
Its cherished radiance on these leaves hath cast!
And ye, pale violets, whose sweet breath hath driven
Back on my soul the dreams I fain would quell;
To whose faint perfume such wild power is given,
To call up visions only loved too well;—
Back on my soul the dreams I fain would quell;
To whose faint perfume such wild power is given,
To call up visions only loved too well;—
Ye too must perish:—wherefore now divide
Tributes of love—first offerings of the heart!
Gifts, that so long have slumbered side by side;
Tokens of feeling, never meant to part!
Tributes of love—first offerings of the heart!
Gifts, that so long have slumbered side by side;
Tokens of feeling, never meant to part!
A long farewell;—sweet flowers, sad scrolls, adieu!
Yes, ye shall be companions to the last:
So perish all that would revive anew
The fruitless memories of the faded past!
Yes, ye shall be companions to the last:
So perish all that would revive anew
The fruitless memories of the faded past!
108
'Tis done; the flames are curling swiftly 'round
Each fairer vestige of my youthful years;
Page after page that searching blaze hath found,
Even while I strive to trace them through my tears:
Each fairer vestige of my youthful years;
Page after page that searching blaze hath found,
Even while I strive to trace them through my tears:
The Hindoo widow, in affection strong,
Dies by her lord and keeps her faith unbroken;
Thus perish all that to those wrecks belong,
The living memory—with the lifeless token!
Dies by her lord and keeps her faith unbroken;
Thus perish all that to those wrecks belong,
The living memory—with the lifeless token!
| Lyrics of the heart | |