Much rests with you that yet endears,
Alas! but what with me?
Could those bright years o’er me revolve
So gay, o’er you so fair,
The pearl of life we would dissolve
And each the cup might share.
You show that truth can ne’er decay,
Whatever fate befalls;
I, that the myrtle and the bay
Shoot fresh on ruin’d walls.
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WHY, why repine, my pensive friend,
Some the stern Fates will never lend,And all refuse to stay.I see the rainbow in the sky,The dew upon the grass;I see them, and I ask not whyThey glimmer or they pass.With folded arms I linger notTo call them back; ’twere vain:In this, or in some other spot,I know they’ll shine again.
FIRST BOOK.
Among those mountain-caverns which retainHis labours yet, vast halls and flowing wells,Nor have forgotten their old master’s nameThough severed from his people here, incensedBy meditating on primeval wrongs,He blew his battle-horn, at which uproseWhole nations; here, ten thousand of most mightHe called aloud, and soon Charoba sawHis dark helm hover o’er the land of Nile,What…
HOW many verses have I thrown
Peculiar word, the wanted most,Was irrecoverably lost!
Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
What every virtue, every grace!Rose Aylmer, all were thine.Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyesMay weep, but never see,A night of memories and sighsI consecrate to thee.
‘Do you remember me? or are you proud?’
Ianthe said, and look’d into my eyes.‘A yes, a yes to both: for MemoryWhere you but once have been must ever be,And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise.’
TO write as your sweet mother does
Play, sing, and smile for others, Rose!Let others write for you.Or mount again your Dartmoor grey,And I will walk beside,Until we reach that quiet bayWhich only hears the tide.Then wave at me your pencil, thenAt distance bid me stand,Before the cavern’d cliff, againThe creature of your hand.And bid me then go past the nookTo sketch…