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When first we met, I saw thee all

A girl's imagining could feign; I did not dream of loving thee,

Still less of being loved again.

I felt it not, till round my heart

Link after link the chain was wove; Then burst at once upon my brain

The maddening thought—I love! I love L

We then were parting, others wept,

But I let not one tear drop fall;
And when each kind Farewell was said,

Mine was the coldest of them all.

But mine the ear that strained to hear

Thy latest step; and mine the eye That watched thy distant shape, when none

But me its shadow could descry.

And when the circle in its mirth

Had quite forgot Farewell and Thee,

I went to my own room, and wept
The tears I would not let thee see.

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And time passed on; but not with time
Did thoughts of thee and thine depart;

The lesson of forgetfulness

Was what I could not teach my heart.

We met again, and women's pride
Nerved me to what I had to bear;

I would not, though my heart had broke,
Have let thee find thine image there.

1 felt thine eyes gazing on mine;

I felt my hand within thine hold;
I heard my name breathed by thy voice,

And I was calm, and I was cold.

I knew the day, the very hour,

That you were wed, and heard your vow; I heard the wedding bells—O God!

Mine car rings with them even now!

1 may not say that you were false,
I never had one vow from thee;

But I have often seen thine eye
Look as it loved to look on me.

And when you spoke to me, your voice

Would always take a softer tone; And surely that last night your cheek

Was almost pallid as my own.

But this is worse than vain Farewell!

Of heaven now I only crave For thee all of life's happiness,

And for myself an early grave!

Miss L. E. Landon.


Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit! rest thee now!
Ere while with ours thy footsteps trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust to its narrow house beneath!

Soul to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death,

No more may fear to die.

Mrs Hemans. OH! BANQUET NOT.

Oh! banquet not in these shining bowers,
Where youth resorts—but come to me;
For mine's a garden of faded flowers;
More fit for sorrow—for age, and thee:
And there we shall have our feast of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour:
Our guests the shades of former years,
Our toasts to lips, that bloom no more.

There while the myrtle's withering boughs,
Their lifeless leaves around us shed;
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows,
To friends long lost—the changed—the dead.
Or as some blighted laurel waves
Its branches o'er the dreary spot,
We'll drink to those neglected graves,
Where valour sleeps—unnamed—forgot!



At summer eve, when heaven's aerial bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering fields below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadow tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?—
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been!
And every form, that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
Can wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of joy's anticipated hour?

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