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What must they feel whom no false vision,
But truest, tenderest passion warmed?
Sincere, but swift in sad transition,
As if a dream alone had charmed?
On being asked what was the “ Origin of Love?”
The “Origin of Love!"-Ah why
That cruel question ask of me,
He starts to life on seeing thee?
And should'st thou seek his end to know:
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, He'll linger long in silent woe;
But live-until I cease to be.
Remember him, &c.
Remember him, whom passion's power
Severely, deeply, vainly proved : Remember thou that dangerous hour
When neither fell, though both were loved.
That yielding breast, that melting eye,
Too much invited to be blest:
That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reproved, represt.
Oh! let me feel that all I lost,
But saved thee all that conscience fears;
And blush for every pang it cost
To spare the vain remorse of years.
Yet think of this when many a tongue,
Whose busy accents whisper blame,
Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name.
Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdued : I bless thy purer soul even now,
Even now, in midnight solitude.
Oh, God! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free ; When thou had'st loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee!
Far may thy days, as heretofore,
From this our gaudy world be past! And, that too bitter moment o’er,
Oh! may such trial be thy last !