TO
—— ——
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Nay!
ask not why that dark’ning gloom
Sits heavy on my youthful
brow—
Or why thus fled the healthful bloom,
And left my cheek so sallow
now— [Page 182]
Or why my harp I take no more,
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To
wake again its slumb’ring string,
Or swell the note, so loved before,
Whose simplest tone could
solace bring.
There is a cause I dare not tell,
Which, like a tempest rude,
doth shake
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My
bosom’s chord—(no fancied spell)—
Like reeds upon some curling
lake.
There was a time when every joy,
Like sunbeams playing o’er
the wave,
Danced in my path—without alloy—
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And
to each sweet new relish gave.
Then, ask no more—no lover’s thought
Disturbs one fibre of my
breast—
Ah, no! ’tis something dearer bought,
Which ne’er, till
life’s last pulse, can rest. [Page
183]
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There is but one, and only one,
Can read the torturing pang
that’s cast
To wreck this heart—yet were——gone,
How fondly should I breathe
my last! [Page 184]
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