46
THE KEEPSAKE.
S o'er thy fairy page I gaze,Thou treasured gift of one most dear,
Amid the scenes of other days,
A form beloved seems hovering near;
And though 'tis silence all around,
A well-known voice methinks I hear;
A long familiar, gentle sound,
Comes falling softly o'er mine ear.
For, oh! whene'er thou meet'st mine eyes,
A thousand memories lost till now,
Touched from their slumber swift arise,
And wear again life's sunny glow.
Yes, thou canst strike the mystic chain
Which binds together kindred souls,
And seem to draw them close again,
Though wide between them ocean rolls.
A thousand memories lost till now,
Touched from their slumber swift arise,
And wear again life's sunny glow.
Yes, thou canst strike the mystic chain
Which binds together kindred souls,
And seem to draw them close again,
Though wide between them ocean rolls.
But yet a dearer feeling still,
Thou fairy volume! rests on thee,—
The thought that one beloved so well,
Though far away, remembers me.
Then welcome here; while friends must part,
While sadly falls the farewell tear,
To every warm and faithful heart,
Affection's gift must still be dear.
Thou fairy volume! rests on thee,—
The thought that one beloved so well,
Though far away, remembers me.
Then welcome here; while friends must part,
While sadly falls the farewell tear,
To every warm and faithful heart,
Affection's gift must still be dear.
March 31, 1837.
