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That HoPE, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he would— For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone ! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams (So the love-stricken visionary deems) Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower! Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
THE HAPPY HUSBAND.
OFT, oft methinks, the while with Thee
A promise and amystery,
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep
That gladness half requests to weep !
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing, And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again.
A more precipitated vein
And leave their sweeter understrain
RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.
I. How warm this woodland wild Recess t Love surely hath been breathing here. And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near.
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
Float here and there, like things astray,
No voice as yet had made the air
That sense of promise every where :
As when a mother doth explore
As whom I long had loved before—
You stood before me like a thought,
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,