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The poison, when pour'd from the chalice,
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
My heart from these horrors to save:
As the chief who to combat advances
By pangs which a smile would dispel ?
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.
DEAR object of defeated care!
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair
Thine image and my tears are left.
"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,
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see:
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write-to tell the tale
By day or night, in weal or woe,
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-no-ne'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.
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Ere call'd but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
That Love each warmer wish forbore;
But sweet to me from none but thine;
But where is thine ?-ah, where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now!
I would not wish thee here again;
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here.
It fain would form my hope in heaven!