Literary Gazette, 5th February, 1825, Page 92
ORIGINAL POETRY.
STANZAS.
“And art thou gone! Ah! life was never made
For one like thee!"
I turn'd into the olive grove
Where first I said my vow of love;
The leaves were fresh, the flowers were fair,
As in our first sweet wand'ring there.
And as I look'd on the blue sky,
And saw the gem-clear stream pass by,
How did I wish that, like these, fate
Had formed the heart inanimate.
And all around was breath and bloom,
And colour'd lamps of rich perfume
Flowers mixt with the green leaves, and made
A varied light amid the shade.
It seem'd like wrong that they could be
So fair, and yet not fair for thee!
I thought upon thy tenderness,
No chance could change, no wrong make less,
When madden'd brain, and tortur'd mind,
Made even me almost unkind
To one, for whom I would have given
A death-bed certainty of Heaven!
I thought on the sweet smile, which stole
Amid the tempest of my soul,
And, like the moonlight on the tide,
Smooth'd what was rough to all beside.
And then I thought how, day by day,
I mark'd some fresh sign of decay,
Upon the cheek, upon the brow,
Which only thou wouldst not allow;
The temple, where the veins shone through,
The clearness of the eyes' deep blue,
Like stars, whose brightest rays have met,
For one last blaze before they set;
And, when I wept this worst of ill,
To find a ruin deeper still—
To leave thee, or to see thee die,
In the last wants of poverty.
We parted, dear one; thou wast left,
Of him thou hadst so lov'd bereft,
