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The poison, when pour'd from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
My heart from these horrors to save : Will nought to my bosom restore thee ?
Then open the gates of the grave.
Secure of his conquest before,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
By pangs which a smile would dispel ? Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
For torture repay me too well ? Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidée ! There Flora all wither'd reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.
1. DEAR object of defeated care !
Though now of Love and thee bereft, To reconcile me with despair
Thine image and my tears are left.
2. 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;
But this I feel can ne'er be true: For by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
]. The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left,
Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
2. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see : The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me.
In gazing when alone ;
My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak ?
That heart, no longer free,
And silent ache for thee.
WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid ? By many a shore and many a sea
Divided, yet beloved in vain ; The past, the future fled to thee
To bid us meet—none'er again ! Could this have been – a word, a look
That softly said, “ We part in peace,” Had taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart ? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here ?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past ?
But when no more 'Twas thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast—as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere call'd but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours ? Ours too the glance none saw beside;
The smile none else might understand ; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss, so guiltless and refined
That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,
Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine ; The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine; The pledge we wore-I wear it still,
But where is thine ?-ah, where art thou ? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now ! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The
cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb,
I would not wish thee here again ; But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me too early taught by thee!
To bear, forgiving and forgiven : On earth thy love was such to me ;
It fain would form my hope in heaven!