Yea, the old Love came

My viol sank mute, my tongue stood still,
I tried to sing on, but vain my will:
I prayed she would guess of the later, and leave me;
She stayed, as though, were she slain by the smart,
She would bear love's burn for a newer heart.
The tense-drawn moment wrought to bereave me
Of voice, and I turned in a dumb despair
At her finding I'd come to another there.
Sick I withdrew
At love's grim hue
Ere my last Love knew;
Sick I withdrew.

From an old copy.



THE WEDDING MORNING



Tabitha dressed for her wedding:-
"Tabby, why look so sad?"
"--O I feel a great gloominess spreading, spreading,
Instead of supremely glad! . . .

"I called on Carry last night,
And he came whilst I was there,