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XXIV.

TO TIME.

Time! on whose arbitrary wing

The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,

But drag or drive us on to dieHail thou! who on my birth bestowed

Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load,

For now I bear the weight alone.
I would not one fond heart should share

The bitter moments thou hast given; And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare

All that I loved, to peace or heav'n.

To them be joy or rest, on me

Thy future ills shall press in vain; I nothing owe but years to thee,

A debt already paid in pain.

Yet even that pain was some relief;

It felt, but still forgot thy power:

The active agony of grief

Retards, but never counts the hour.

In joy I've sighed to think thy flight

Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light,

But could not add a night to woe;

For then, however drear and dark,

My soul was suited to thy sky; One star alone shot forth a spark

To prove thee-not Eternity.

That beam hath sunk, and now thou art

A blank; a thing to count and curse Through each dull tedious trifling part,

W’hich all regret, yet all rehearse. One scene even thou canst not deform;

The limit of thy sloth or speed,

When future wanderers bear the storm

Which we shall sleep too sound to heed:

And I can smile to think how weak

Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,

When all the vengeance thou canst wreak

Must fall upon-a nameless stone!

XXV.

Translation of a Romaic Love Song.

1.

AH! Love was never yet without
The pang, the agony, the doubt,

Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, While day and night roll darkling by.

2.

Without one friend to hear my woe,

I faint, I die beneath the blow.

That Love had arrows, well I knew ;

Alas! I find them poisoned too.

3.

Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net,

Which Love around your haunts hath set; Or circled by his fatal fire,

Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.

4.

A bird of free and careless wing

Was I, through many a smiling spring;
But caught within the subtle snare,
I burn, and feebly flutter there.

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