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280

ADIEU, ADIEU!-OUR DREAM OF LOVE.

Our souls have drunk, in early youth,
The bitter dregs of earthly ill,

Our bosoms, blighted in their growth,

Have learned to suffer-and be still!

The hour is come,-the spell is past!—
Far, far from thee,-my only love!

Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last !—
My darkened spirit turns to rove.

Adieu, adieu!-oh, dull and dread,
Sinks on the ear that parting knell !—
Hope, and the dreams of hope, lie dead,
To them and thee, farewell-farewell!

NAY, DRY THAT TEAR!

NAY, dry that tear!-where'er I stray,
My spirit never shall repine,

While it has power to chase away

The shadows, dear! from thine.

My soul has weathered storms, above
The strength of feeble minds to bear;
But

may not see the cheek I love

Dimmed by affliction's tear.

282

NAY, DRY THAT TEAR!

'Tis bliss enough for me, to rest

Beneath the of that blue eye,—

ray

Or, pillowed on thy gentle breast,
To echo back its sigh!

But oh! that eye must not be wet

With aught that speaks the touch of sorrow,

Nor must the murmur of regret

Thy sigh's soft music borrow!

Oh! may thy looks be ever bright

With that sweet smile which peace discloses,

And o'er the young cheek sheds its light,
Like sunbeams upon roses!

And may thy sighs-if sighs e'er start,-
Light as the wings to seraphs given,
Come from the heaven of thy heart,

To waft the heart to heaven!

ANACREONTIC.

IF TO-MORROW MAY DAWN ON A STORMY DAY.

If to-morrow may dawn on a stormy day,-
If the smile in pleasure's eyes

By the cloud of despair may be chased away,
Like the visions of summer skies,-

If joy be a vanishing beam, at best,
Like the lights o'er northern seas,—

284

IF TO-MORROW MAY DAWN

Oh! where is the heart that would coldly waste

The sunshine of moments like these!

Then fill-fill high the sparkling glass,

And crown the moments, as they pass!

If bliss be a frail and perishing flower,

Born only to decay,

Oh! who-when it blooms but a single hour,

Would fling its sweets away

!

When storms are abroad, and the world is dark,

And wrecks strew life's abyss,

Oh! who would not anchor his weary bark,

In the calm of a port like this!

Then, though round about us life's tempests roll,
We'll cling to our moorings,-the bottle and bowl!

When lovers are false, and friends unkind,

And the lights of life are flown,

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