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'Tis not the loss of love's assurance,
It is not doubting what thou art, But 'tis the too, too long endurance
Of absence, that afflicts my heart.
The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish,
When each is lonely doom'd to weep, · Are fruits on desert isles that perish,
Or riches buried in the deep.
What though, untouch'd by jealous madness,
Our bosom's peace may fall to wreck; Th’ undoubting heart, that breaks with sadness,
Is but more slowly doom'd to break.
Absence! is not the soul torn by it
From more than light, or life, or breath?
'Tis Lethe’s gloom, but not its quiet,-
The pain without the peace of death!'
WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers,
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell ; Life's joy for us a moment lingers,
And death seems in the word — farewell. The hour that bids us part and go, It sounds not yet, oh! no, no, no.
Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness,
Flies like a courser nigh the goal; .. To-morrow where shall be his fleetness,
When thou art parted from my soul? Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow, But not together--no, no, no!
THE LAST MAN.
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Adown the gulph of Time!
As Adam saw her prime! i! !
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man ! Some had expired in fight,the brands Still rusted in their bony hands ;
In plague and famine some ! Earth’s cities had no sound nor tread; And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb !
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass’d by,