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The rapture of a farewell kiss!
I seek not wisdom from the crowd
Who laugh in woe to worship pride;
With the world's men I can be proud,
And king with king stand side by side.
I gaze upon the stars of God,

And deem my soul hath lost its sphere,

For some strange crime doomed to this sod,
Buried in doubt and darkness here;

I sink my soul within the soul

That lights with heaven's revealings earth,
And in the dust before The Whole
Drop prostrate into deathless birth!

But, Clara! in the dawn of mind,
In the young glow, the gush of heart,
Like music linked to autumn wind,
Our spirits wed-and can we part?
Can time's mildew or fading flight
Ruin the home of hope we built,

And, as we roam through storm and night,

Our meeting bear the curse of guilt?

Can we forget how oft we met,

How deeply loved, how wildly mourned,

When tearless grief and vain regret

Before love's shrine their offerings burned?

Can we forget the sacred charm,

The midnight hush of still commune,

While the heart thrilled each folded arm,
And hope soared up beside the moon?
Can we forget the starlight sail

TO CLARA.

On Housatonic's azure breast?

Can memory, mind, and love, all fail
To tell us that we have been blest?
There's not a grove in Ripton's vale,
There's not a flower beside the river,

That breathes not out Love's mournful tale,
When pale leaves in the cold winds quiver—
And shall we blot from life the hour
That sealed us for undying fate,

And o'er the bloom of young love's bower
Cast the world's scorn and bitter hate?
I hear a voice from oceans past,
The heart's knell o'er returnless years;
I stand upon life's shoreless waste,
The haunt and home of buried fears;
And, as pale shades of hope flit by,
And love in tears slow follows on,
Missioned to one eternity,

That bosoms future, present, gone,
I cast my spirit o'er thy name,
And deem me blest by love's lone tomb,
For thou to me art hope and fame-
The Pleiad of the world's cold gloom!

125

TO MY HUSBAND.

I cannot but embrace the opportunity to present, in this work, the simple offering of a heart untainted by selfishness and unchanged by adversity when evil fortune darkened and afflictions troubled the fountain of my soul. The following verses, heretofore published, were addressed by MRS. JANE FAIRFIELD to the author, and may illustrate to certain men of malevolence the depth and purity of a love which they can neither appreciate nor acquire.

Blest be the hour that called thee mine,
Hallowed in green bright memory!
When first we met, my heart was thine-
How could I choose but worship thee?

Too well I felt that thou hadst loved

Some gentle heart to sorrow given,
And well I knew thou hadst bestowed
Deep feelings that were rent and riven.

And, in deep truth, I loved thee more
For having loved as years had gone,
For, oh, my spirit could adore

The heart that throbbed so long for one.

TO MY HUSBAND.

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127

Dear destined maiden! wedded now

To utter misery and woe!

I love her for she kept her vow—

Though tears from her swoln eyelids flow.

Genius must suffer scorn and hate

And insult from the reptile few,

And I will glory that my fate

Is blent and blessed with one so true.

I love thee that thou art not loved
By those whose praise is infamy;
It is enough that thou hast proved
Thy heart doth dwell in purity.

I've heard thee branded with a lie,

And witnessed many an insult given

By envious slanderers, who defy

Their God, e'en on His throne in Heaven!

For this, I love thee, wedded one!

The scorn of vice is virtue's glory; Grieve not o'er years of sorrow gone

Thy name shall live in glorious story.

Would I could shield thee, chosen one!
By cold and cruel wrongs oppressed—

I'd wander through the world alone,
And find my heaven on thy breast.

128

TO MY HUSBAND.

Let me partake and soothe thy grief,
And bear with thee an injured name,
For wealth is but a gilded leaf,

And venal praise crowns not true fame.

Can smiles light up thy face no more?
Must sorrow bear thee to the tomb?
Then while I breathe on earth's cold shore,
Happy I'll live and share thy gloom.

Thy pallid brow, where genius glows,
Thy stainless heart that fears not guile,
Each, dearer than the first spring rose,

Glance o'er my heart like heaven's sweet smile.

Thou shalt not vainly suffer hate

From those who scoffed and spurned thy name, Heaven, with whom dwells atoning fate,

Shall

pour its blessing o'er thy fame.

Could I upbraid thee, dearest one!

"Twould be for trusting those who hate thee;

Yet gaze not thus on evil done

For perfect bliss on earth would sate thee.

False men, who haunt thee and pursue,
With hate, thy lone and sinless way,
Cannot-oh, joy! cannot subdue

The soul whose blossoms round thee play.

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