Every moment, lightly shaken, ran | O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; 3mote the chord of Self, that, trembling, past in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the spring. Many an evening by the waters did my Amy, mine no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! Othe barren, barren shore! 40 Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue! Is it well to wish thee happy?- hav. Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay. Thou shalt hear the Never, never,' whisper'd by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow. get thee to thy rest again. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will crv. 'Tis a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry. Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast. g |
