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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?
Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming,
And all thy change can be but dreaming!


On being asked what was the Origin of Love?

The “Origin of Love!"-Ah why

That cruel question ask of me,
When thou may'st read in many an eye

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 !

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