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Yet shall he scorn, procumbent, to betray
But his were deeds unchronicled; his tomb
Haply to grace some Cæsar's pageant pride
of death, and theatres of blood !
BY WILLIAM HOWITT.
How pleasantly the sun, this summer day,
A WOMAN'S FAREWELL.
The waves are all at rest on yon river's shining breast,
And in evening's sweet light sleep the towers of Thoulouse ; The bright-haired god of day ere long will pass away,
And twilight be shedding her shadows and dews.
'T is now that silent hour when love hath deepest power
To stir the soft heart with its dreams of delight;When even the sickening thrill of hope delayed still,
And the sunbeams of feeling grow golden and bright.
How can I then but choose at such an hour to muse
With fondest regret on the days that have flown; For all seems wildly changed since hand in hand we ranged
By the green, winding banks of the gleaming Garonne !
What darkly-chequered years, what passionate hopes and fears,
Have solaced and seared our young bosoms since then; What clouds of care and blight, what visions of delight,
Have chilled them and thrilled them again and again!
Yet believe me, love, in this,—though in moments of bliss
Every pulse of thy heart found a response in mine; When the storm upon us came, I may merit thy blame,
But so sweet was our sadness I could not repine.
Forgive me if I deemed Fate kinder than she seemed,
If I smiled at the world and its fiercest alarms; If I inly blest the grief that bade thee seek relief
In the cherishing shelter and pale of my arms.
Was loss of wealth severe, when a fond one was near
To soothe thee and make thee a Croesus in love? Or vexations all must bear, worth a thought or a care Which a kiss -- and thou 'st owned it- a kiss could remove?
What are life's petty ills, its hectics or its chills,
Do they trench on affection, or wither its flowers ! No: in hearts with feeling warm, love's the bow of the storm,
Which grows deeper and brighter the faster it showers.
Though keen and bitter woes have troubled our repose,
There's a wilder one, dearest, in store for us yet : Oh, what a thrill intense drinks up each vital sense,
When I turn to the bodings I fain would forget!
Why did we ever part? Sorrow had not a dart
In her quiver I could not have smiled at beside : Even the fiat of my doom, though it spake of the tomb,
I could calmly have bowed to with thee by my side.
Some have said that passion's storm will oft thy soul deform,
But to me thou hast ever been gentle and calm: Some have said hate oft hath wrung bitter accents from thy tongue,
But to me have thy words been as music and balm.
Let them rail, let them rail! those who credit their tale
Cannot know thee so deeply and dearly as I. 'Then our foes we 'll forgive, since their efforts to rive
Affection's firm chain, hath drawn closer the tie.
Thus will it ever be, on the world's troubled sea,
When two fond ones are cleaving in concert their way, Though clouds sometimes may hide them, and tempests divide,
They 'll be nearer than e'er when the rack drives away!
In life's unclouded spring, as on Pleasure's light wing,
'Mid its bowers of enchantment we carelessly roved; With feelings, hopes, and fears, far too deep for our years,
In that sun-burst of gladness we met and we loved !
Thou wert then at that age when the stormy passions rage
More fiercely the wilder earth's wise ones reprove; Pride and gentleness combined, in thy young heart were shrined,
The softness and fire of the eagle and dove!
'Though Fortune was unkind, to thy merits ever blind,
Still thy spirit could unstooping her malice endure : And what though thou wert thrown on this wide world alone,
Did I love thee less for being friendless and poor?
In the casket of thy soul, beyond Fortune's control,
There were gems of more value than gauds of this earth ; And for rank thou could'st vie with the highest of the high,
For thy heart sure was princely, whate'er was thy birth.
Feelings lofty and refined, golden gifts of the mind,
Were the rank and the riches most precious to me; And, but that words are weak, and the heart may not speak,
I would tell what a treasure I met with in thee.
What is wealth, what is wealth, could it purchase me health ?
Or procure for us moments more blissful than those We together oft have past, whenever fate's chilling blast
Could not ruffle our own little world of repose ?
Surely not, surely not! Life's light ills were forgot;
Then protected by thee, on thy bosom I hung; And though tempests raged above, they were harmless to love,
For the wilder the ruin, the closer we clung!
But the sun has looked his last, and the day is fading fast,
And night's shades are overwhelming my heart and my song; Fare thee well !- a long farewell !— I have broken the spell
Which has bound me to earth and its witcheries so long!
THE TOMB OF ROMEO AND JULIET.
BY L. E. L.
Ay, moralize on Love, and deem
miseries ;-its tears
Just know yourself beloved, and die !