MELANCHOLY. [From the Ode thereon.] Is 't not enough to vex our souls And fill our eyes, that we have set Lo! here the best, the worst, the Our hearts upon a violet? world Doth now remember or forget Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet; The roses bud and bloom again; O clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art Her sighs and tears, and musings mine, And do not take my tears amiss; A thought that shows so stern as Forgive, if somewhile I forget, The sunniest things throw sternest And there is even a happiness The full-orbed moon to grieve our eyes; holy! LOVE thy mother, little one! Not bright, not bright—but with a Gaze upon her living eyes, cloud Lapped all about her, let her rise And mirror back her love for thee, - The moon! she is the source of Press her lips the while they glow sighs, With love that they have often told, For thou may'st live the hour forlorn All things are touched with melan- When thou wilt ask to die with ber. choly, Born of the secret soul's mistrust dust. Even the bright extremes of joy Whose fragrance ends in must. Oh, give her then her tribute just, Pray for her at eve and morn! I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember |