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Alas! thou might'st have died, and yet beside thee
The midnight came, and I could never slumber,
The morning came, and brought the night's unrest,
That thy pure soul unfit for mine so lowly,
But thou art spared me, oh, this stubborn spirit,
The garland of thy love I did not merit,
And yet it is not plucked from off my brow; And, in my dreams, thy semblance, like an angel, Smiles gently on me, bids me not to fear, Into my spirit sinks the blest Evangel,
And echoes sweetly, Be thou of good cheer.'
THEY sat together in the wood,
And through the shade the sunlight fell,
'And take,' she said, 'this cross and chain, And wear it on thy breast:
I've counted oft each bead and link
To lull me to my rest;
And many a time this little cross
Hath to my lips been press'd.
'Thou goest from me
I no more
Shall watch about thy way;
I shall not see thy form at eve,
If Evil lure thee from the Right,
If Conscience plead in vain, Oh! like an iron link to Truth,
Heaven make this fragile chain! And may this cross burn in thy heart, Till thou art strong again.
'If bluer, softer eyes than mine
And so they parted: she to wear,
In forest or in town,
A cross and chain upon his heart,
From the far heaven let down.
We stood upon the ragged rocks,
When the long day was nearly done, The waves had ceased their sullen shocks
And lapped our feet with murmuring tone, And, o'er the Bay, in streaming locks Blew the red tresses of the Sun.
Along the west the golden bars
Looked out from the unfathomed blue,
And the far city's clamorous jars
Seemed melted in that evening hue.
Oh sunset sky, oh purple tide,
Oh friends to friends that closer press'd, Those glories have in darkness died, And ye have left my longing breast,
I could not keep you by my side,
Nor fix that radiance in the west.
Upon those rocks the waves shall beat
With the same low and murmurous strain,
Across those waves with glancing feet
But when together shall we meet,
Cape Cottage, on thy shores again?
NEARER TO THEE.
YEARS, years have fled, since, hushed in thy last slumber,
Twilight comes, and robes in softest splendor
The night is gone; and as the mists of morning
I sometimes think thy spirit kindly watches
In those sweet seasons thou dost come before me,
I feel thy presence like a blessing o'er me,