University of Virginia Library

When my name 'mongst ye is heard,
Still couple it with some kind word,
Let it ever spoken be
In gentlest tone of sympathy,
Be it evermore allied
(Though not with sighs accompanied)
To soft expressions of regret—
But if ye cease to love—forget!
If absence from your hearts remove me,
Oh! if, sweet friends! you cease to love me,
If absence cloud with such eclipse,
Let not my name then pass your lips,
Not on your lips, friends! would I dwell,
If banished from your bosom's cell—
Oh! breathe my name with kind regret,
Or if you cease to love—forget!
That name should call up many a thought
From Memory's treasure-houses brought,
Full, full of sweetness and of power,
And strong to charm the passing hour,
Ah! many a thought of vanished things
Flown on Time's own sweeping wings,
Should it bring to ye—sweet Friends!
If absence not, Love's pure tie rends,
When my name is spoken, then
Let it bring to mind again
Scenes and joys now past away,
Things of a departed day!
Hours when its loved sound appeared,
(By many mutual ties endeared,)
Ever welcome—ever blest—
With its echo in the breast!
Oh! that sound did mingle still
(At the thought these dim eyes fill
With vainest tears—whose fevered flow
Speaks but cannot soothe my woe)
With all sounds of mirth and glee,
All glad sounds of festivity,
These it mingled with, ere yet
My Soul's bright light of bliss was set!
When my name 'mongst ye is breathed,
Let, Oh! let it then be wreathed
With many a Story of the Past,
O'er which, like a bright spell cast,
Its utterance shall the glow of truth
Strongly shed—till love and ruth
Moisten your kind eyes for me,
Knowing the Infelicity
That still my fainting steps attends,
Thus borne from ye! my Friends! my Friends!
Stranger-Friends that must be now,
Severed—sundered here below—
Parted—parted—weary word,
Thrilling Memory's every chord—
Stranger-Friends?—Oh! mocking Fate,
Thou mak'st my sick heart desolate.
What is Life—when lost, lost love
Hastens back to his home above—
Leaving but a rich regret,
Like brooding light from fair Suns set?
Stranger-Friends?—whose thoughts no more
Together mingle as before—
Whose feelings now are torn apart—
Soul from soul—and heart from heart—
Ye may weep, my Friends! the while
All unconsciously I smile;
I may mourn, while full of mirth,
On this strange this changeful Earth,
Ye may laugh the time away,
Basking in joy's cloudless ray!
Stranger-Friends!—Oh! must this be
Bitter, blighting thought to me!
Stranger-Friends!—that nothing know
Of mutual weal or mutual woe?
Every hallowed tie undone,
Feeling's finest fervours gone—
Sympathies destroyed and chilled,
Love's spiritual music stilled?
No! this shall not be—not thus—
I pray, may Fate dissever us—
Love shall still our hearts controul,
Love shall still twine Soul with Soul—
Distance—changes—absence—vain
Shall be to wrest from him his reign—
And, Oh! so long, so long as Love
Moveth still where'er we move,
So long hath he, retaineth still
Power to make one heart-pulse thrill,
Despite of distance then and doom
We may not Stranger-Friends become.
No! we shall yet be true, unchanged,
With faith and feelings unestranged,
Though ignorant we yet may be,
Each of the other's destiny,
Not, not of the outward common lot—
How often that affecteth not
The inward conditions of the Soul,
Soaring beyond its blind controul!
(Within itself empowered to make
Its peace and weal—which seldom shake,
Mere accidents of circumstance,
If armed to meet each mortal chance
With steadfast purpose and unbent,
And fixed and will-enforced content—
It hold its high and certain way,
Enpanoplied with mailed array,
Girt round with strength, from noblest source,
A mighty and a moveless force—)
The outward lot may all be known
Perchance—but that which is not shown
When absence separates those who love,
And far doth faithful hearts remove,
Is the inward Spirit's Mystery
Of joy or grief—which bared may be
To Friendship's eye, in converse dear
From time to time, perchance even here
In moments when the heart reveals
Those secrets it so oft conceals—
Not all by words, but signs—but hints
Fleeting and fine as rainbow-tints,
Which yet the instinctive sense of love
Is quick to catch and to improve!
And so the hidden truth is shown,
And so the secret Soul is known.

Sweet Friends! lost Friends! Oh! love me still—
My true heart whispers aye—ye will!
And be my name amongst ye heard,
An every-day familiar word,
And keep for me a precious part
Within each fond and feeling heart,
Think of me still, with Love's regret,
Or—if you cease to love—forget!