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ALBUM VERSES.
LOVE WITHOUT HOPE.
Love without hope! poor cheerless flower
Come, in this hapless bosom rest:
Whisper, at midnight's weary hour,
“Though unrequited, not unblest.”
Teach me to love, and yet forego;
Teach me to wish, and yet forbear;
To hopeless live, and hopeless know
The dead, dumb, sweetness of despair.
Thus, in the calm lake's peaceful breast
The golden clouds reflected rest;
But the mad waves more rashly woo,
And lose the image they pursue.
TO SARAH.
הרש, in the ancient Hebrew,
Meaneth “mistress, dame, or wife,”
So it seems your fate is settled,
For the matrimonial life.
Home, they say, is next to heaven,
That's a thing well understood;
And, I think, Miss Sally —
You can make the adage good.
But, while life is in its spring-time,
Keep that little heart of thine
Like some precious relic, hidden
In a pilgrim-worshipped shrine.
Though, from lips of fondest lover,
Words of soft persuasion breathe,
Let ten years at least roll over
Ere you wear the orange-wreath.
Ten good years, and then I'll wager
Twenty thousand pounds upon it,
Sweeter maid than Sarah, never
Blushed beneath a bridal bonnet.
TO MARY.
Dear Mary, though these lines may fade,
And drop neglected in the dust,
Yet what I wish, my little maid,
Will surely come to pass, I trust.
May all that's purest, rarest, best,
Be imaged ever in thy heart;
And may thy future years attest
Thee innocent, as now thou art.
Fair seem the flowers, fair seems the spring,
Bright shines the sun—the starry band,
Life flies, with inexperienced wing,
O'er blooming fields of Morning-land.
But where you rosy summit glows
Forbear to tempt the aspiring flight,
For storms those painted clouds enclose,
And tempests beat yon glittering height.
Ah, no—the illusive wish forego—
This precept learn, by nature given,
From mountain's tops, we gaze below,
But in the vales, we look to heaven.
Then be thy guide the golden truth;
Keep thou thy heart serene and young;
And in thy age, as in thy youth,
Thou'lt still be loved and still be sung.
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