We shall think on the days, with those friends we have seen, And in fancy live o'er them once more ; Ah no! even then, to our memory shall steal Thus in parting, perhaps we are breaking a link And firm as that chain is-'tis painful to think Anon. FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER, &c. Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour, 2 But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up, Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features, that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled: You may break-you may ruin the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. Moore. WOMAN. Gone from her cheek is the summer bloom, And the spirit that sate on her soft blue eye, And the smile that played on her lip bath fled Like slaves they obeyed her, in height of power, And the crowds that swore for her love to die, 'Tis woman alone, with a finer heart, Anon. Pale flowers,-pale perishing flowers! Ye're types of precious things That flit like life's enjoyments, On rapid-rapid wings. Last hours with parting dear ones Last tears in silence shed, Last words-half uttered, Last looks of dying friends. Who but would fain compress A life into a day; The last day spent with one, Who, ere the morrow's sun, Must leave us-and for aye ? Oh! precious, precious moments, Pale flowers--pale perishing flowers, I leave the summer rose, For younger-blither brows; Tell me of change and death !-- Anon. |