 | Poems |  |
162
SONG VIII.
[Farewell, false youth! since thou art gone]
I
Farewell, false youth! since thou art gone,'Tis me the world will blame;
We have no friend, and deemed thee one,
Who ill deserved that name.
It cost thee not one tear to part;
With me all grief must dwell;
I know my doom's a broken heart—
But thou art gone—farewell!
163
II
Thou lovest another—yes, I feel'Tis that which pierces deep;
Oh! could I from myself conceal
The cause which makes me weep!
Hush! little babe, why dost thou cry?
Thy mother loves thee well;
Thy father bade thee not good-bye—
But he has gone—farewell!
III
Alas! we have but Nature's claim—Ah! why did I thus love?
But thou shalt bear thy mother's name—
Hush! hush! my injured dove.
Thy plaintive cries but bring to mind
What I to none must tell;
He went away, it was unkind
To kiss thee not—farewell!
| Poems | |