Yon star of love, I cannot feel alone;
For wheresoe'er my after lot may be,
That evening star shall speak of home and thee.
Fancy will view it o'er yon mountain's brow
That sleeps in solitude before us now;
While memory's lamp shall kindle at its rays,
And light the happy scenes of other days--
Such scenes as this; and then the very breeze
That with it bears the odour of the trees,
And gathers up the meadow's sweet perfume,
From off my clouded brow, shall chase the gloom
Of sick'ning absence; for the scented air
To me wafts back remembrance, as the prayer
Of lisping childhood is remembered yet,
Like living words, which we can ne'er forget."


VIII.

Till now, their life had been one thought of joy,
A vision time was destined to destroy--
As dies the dewy network on the thorn,
Before the sunbeams, with the mists of morn.
Thus far their lives in one smooth current ran--
They loved, yet knew not when that love began,
And hardly knew they loved; though it had grown
A portion of their being, and had thrown
Its spirit o'er them; for its shoots had sprung
Up in their hearts, while yet their hearts were young;
Even like the bright leaves of some wandering seed,