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These gifts were charmed by secret spell
Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well,
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet-till thou could'st think
In other hands its notes were such.
Let him, who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shivered in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.
When thou wert changed, they altered too;
The chain is broke, the music mute:
'Tis past—to them and thee adieu
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
Thine eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
And the wan lustre of thy features-caught
From contemplation—where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despairHave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought I should have deemed thee doomed to earthly care.
With such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent)
The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou-but how much more excellent!
With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtuescorn.
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow:And dazzle not thy deep blue eyes-but oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow: