Ten ears Ago. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. “That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, -WORDSWORTH. 'EN years ago, ten years ago, TEN Life was to us a fairy scene ; And the keen blasts of worldly woe Had sear'd not then its pathway green. Youth and its thousand dreams were ours, Feelings we ne'er can know again; Unwither'd hopes, unwasted powers, And frames unworn by mortal pain: Such was the bright and genial flow Of life with us—ten years ago. Time has not blanch'd a single hair Nor hath the cankering touch of care In love's deep truth, in earlier years; Though sometimes stain'd by secret tears; But where, oh where's the spirit's glow That shone through all-ten years ago? Ten Years Ago. I, too, am changed-I scarce know why- Time cannot sure have wrought the ill, Though worn in this world's sickening strife, In soul and form I linger still In the first summer month of life; Yet journey on my path below, But look not thus ;-I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive, When all around me seem'd so fair. We've wander'd on in sunny weather, When winds were low and flowers in bloom, And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom; 43 Has fortune frown'd? Her frowns were vain, Twin barks on this world's changing wave, Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried ; In concert still our fate we'll brave, Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow, Have we not knelt beside his bed, And watch'd our first-born blossom die ? Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled, Then wept till feeling's fount was dry? Was it not sweet, in that dark hour, To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs, And burst to bloom in Paradise? What to the thought that soothed that woe Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright, Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged, Sweet feelings we would not forego A Woman's Farewell. HE waves are all at rest on yon river's shining breast, THE And in evening's sweet light sleep the towers of Thou- The bright-hair'd god of day ere long will pass away, 'Tis now that silent hour when love hath deepest power A Woman's Farewell. How can I then but choose at such an hour to muse With fondest regret on the days that have flown; 45 For all seems wildly changed since hand in hand we ranged By the green-winding banks of the gleaming Garonne ! What darkly-chequer'd years, what passionate hopes and fears, Have solaced and sear'd our young bosoms since then! What clouds of care and blight, what visions of delight, Have chill'd them and thrill'd them again and again! Yet believe me, love, in this,—though in moments of bliss Every pulse of thy heart found a response in mine, When the storm upon us came, I may merit thy blame; But so sweet was our sadness I could not repine. Forgive me if I deem'd Fate kinder than she seem'd, Was loss of wealth severe, when a fond one was near What are life's petty ills, its hectics or its chills? Do they trench on affection, or wither its flowers? No: in hearts with feeling warm, love's the bow of the storm, Which grows deeper and brighter the faster it showers. Though keen and bitter woes have troubled our repose, Why did we ever part? Sorrow had not a dart Some have said that passion's storm will oft thy soul deform, But to me thou hast ever been gentle and calm : Some have said hate oft hath wrung bitter accents from thy tongue, But to me have thy words been as music and balm. Let them rail, let them rail; those who credit their tale Thus will it ever be, on the world's troubled sea, When two fond ones are cleaving in concert their way; Though clouds sometimes may hide them, and tempests divide, They'll be nearer than e'er when the rack drives away. In life's unclouded spring, as on Pleasure's light wing, Thou wert then at that age when the stormy passions rage, The softness and fire of the eagle and dove. |