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AWAY, away, ye notes of woe!
Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence, for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again.
I must not think, may not gaze
The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; And now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart!
"Tis silent all!-but on my ear
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still, Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake: Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.
ONE struggle more, and I am free
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before: Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,
On many a lone and lovely night
When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, "'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,
"That Thyrza cannot know my pains :' Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
The heart that gave itself with thee
Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!