 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
WELL THEN, WE PART!
Well then, we part! and now I feel
The world is but a blank to me;
And I would from its notice steal,
To hide in gloom my misery.
Vain is the search that fain would find,
Enjoyment worth its varied care,
And he must be to feeling blind,
Who seeking love, finds not despair!
The world is but a blank to me;
And I would from its notice steal,
To hide in gloom my misery.
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Enjoyment worth its varied care,
And he must be to feeling blind,
Who seeking love, finds not despair!
I will not ask if thou hast felt
One pang, one throb 'till now unknown;
Thy griefs would but my bosom melt,
While mine have harden'd it to stone.
'Twere vain alas! to seek to change,
The destiny that sways us now,
Tho' it were blissful to estrange
Our hearts, to aught, but what they know.
One pang, one throb 'till now unknown;
Thy griefs would but my bosom melt,
While mine have harden'd it to stone.
'Twere vain alas! to seek to change,
The destiny that sways us now,
Tho' it were blissful to estrange
Our hearts, to aught, but what they know.
There is a lyre—its plaintive sound
Has cheated oft my lonely breast,
And I have turn'd and look'd around,
But then the notes were lull'd to rest.
It is the reed that memory plays
Upon a lonely heart of stone,
Whilst Feeling listens as she strays,
O'er wilds that once she deem'd her own.
Has cheated oft my lonely breast,
And I have turn'd and look'd around,
But then the notes were lull'd to rest.
It is the reed that memory plays
Upon a lonely heart of stone,
Whilst Feeling listens as she strays,
O'er wilds that once she deem'd her own.
The moon is up—I know thine eye
Is watching now its lonely light,
And kindred hearts in misery,
Can breathe their sorrows forth at night.
Over the waters full and clear,
I hear the mellow notes arise,
'Tis memory brings them to my ear,
And feeling's list'ning soul replies.
Is watching now its lonely light,
And kindred hearts in misery,
Can breathe their sorrows forth at night.
Over the waters full and clear,
I hear the mellow notes arise,
'Tis memory brings them to my ear,
And feeling's list'ning soul replies.
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'Tis sweet, even sweet to live for pain,
For anguish tells my soul of thee,
And dreams alone can give my brain,
The hopes—the joys—that may not be!
Oh! why will being ever wake
The soul from watching such a beam?
Or, heart! why do thy chords not break,
When waken'd from so rich a dream?
For anguish tells my soul of thee,
And dreams alone can give my brain,
The hopes—the joys—that may not be!
Oh! why will being ever wake
The soul from watching such a beam?
Or, heart! why do thy chords not break,
When waken'd from so rich a dream?
| Lyrical and other poems | |