WHY DO WE LOVE?
I often think each tottering form
That limps along in life's decline;
Once bore a heart as young—as warm
As full of idle thoughts, as mine.
And each has had his dream of joy,
His own unequall'd, pure romance;
Commencing when the blushing boy
First thrills at lovely woman's glance.
And each could tell his tale of youth,
And think its scenes of love evince
More passion, more unearthly truth
Than any tale before, or since.
Yes! they could tell of tender lays
At midnight penn'd in classic shades;
Of days—more bright than modern days,
And maids more fair than living maids.
Of whispers in a willing ear;
Of kisses on a blushing cheek;
Each kiss—each whisper, far too dear
For modern lips to give or speak.
Of prospects too untimely cross'd,
Of passion slighted, or betray'd;
Of kindred spirits early lost,
And buds that blossomed but to fade.
Of beaming eyes, and tresses gay—
Elastic form, and noble brow;
And charms that all have passed away,
And left them—what we see them now!
And is it so? Is human love
So very light, so frail a thing!
And must youth's brightest visions move
For ever on Time's restless wing!
Must all the eyes that still are bright,
And all the lips that talk of bliss,
And all the forms so fair to-night,
Hereafter—only come to this?
Ah yes! each path where lovers rove,
In shady groves, or on the shore;
If it can echo vows of love,
Hath echoed vows as fond before.
And other forms, as fair as these,
Have glided down yon verdant glen;
And other nymphs beneath the trees
Have heard the flattering words of men.
A strain as sweet as that which floats
Upon the breeze, o'er yonder wave,
By moonlight rose from other boats—
From lips—now silent as the grave.
Then what are love's best visions worth,
If we, at length, must yield them thus?
If all we value most on earth,
Ere long, must fade away from us!
If that one being, whom we take
From all the world, and still recur
To all she said, and for her sake
Feel far from joy, when far from her;
If that one form which we adore,
From youth to age—in bliss or pain,
Soon withers, and is seen no more;
Why do we love, if love be vain?
Oh! is it not because we love
(Far more than beauty's fleeting worth;)
The kindred soul which soars above
The fair, yet fading flow'rs of earth?
Because affection shuddering shrinks
From the cold dust left mouldering here,
And midst his tears the mourner thinks
Of joy beyond this troubled sphere?
Yes—if when beauty's dazzling mask
Is gone, no other charms remain;
Well may the heart desponding ask—
“Why do we love, if love be vain?”
But 'tis not so.—When we behold
Death's faded victim once so fair,
The eye is dim—The lip is cold—
But all we valued—lies not there!
