The rapture of a farewell kiss! And deem my soul hath lost its sphere, For some strange crime doomed to this sod, I sink my soul within the soul That lights with heaven's revealings earth, But, Clara! in the dawn of mind, 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, TO CLARA. On Housatonic's azure breast? Can memory, mind, and love, all fail That breathes not out Love's mournful tale, And o'er the bloom of young love's bower That bosoms future, present, gone, 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, Too well I felt that thou hadst loved Some gentle heart to sorrow given, And, in deep truth, I loved thee more The heart that throbbed so long for one. TO MY HUSBAND. 1 127 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 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! I'd wander through the world alone, 128 TO MY HUSBAND. Let me partake and soothe thy grief, And venal praise crowns not true fame. Can smiles light up thy face no more? Thy pallid brow, where genius glows, 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, The soul whose blossoms round thee play. |