A bridal gift, by the editor of 'A parting gift to a Christian friend'.

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Page 62 - BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.
Page 128 - Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow— Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more; My Mary!
Page 96 - Alas ! — how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity...
Page 111 - When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay, And woo the cooler wind. I miss thee when by Gunga's stream My twilight steps I guide, But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I miss thee from my side.
Page 128 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Page 128 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy...
Page 63 - No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close ; As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.
Page 69 - Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, Heaven-born and destined to the skies again.
Page 128 - No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living.
Page 128 - No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection — when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness — who would root out such a sorrow from the heart...

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