Yes! I will hope, though fortune's stern decree
From all I love commands me soon to part;
Nor doubt, though absent, that a thought of me
Shall sometimes find a place in every heart,
Where feeling glows, unchilled by time or art--
Why should I doubt, when doubt is wretchedness,
Such as to feel bids bitter tears to start
From eyes that seldom weep, though tears, perhaps, might bless?
It cannot be that love like that which fills
My soul for them, should be bestowed in vain,
When but the fear that they forget me, chills
Each pulse and feeling--as the wintry rain
Chills earth and air, which yet may glow again
In summer's beams--but what can joy restore
To bosoms upon which that blight has lain?
From such e'en hope departs, and can return no more.
For them I would have done--but let me not
Such thoughts recall--could service e'er repay
The blessings their companionship has wrought?--
With them too swiftly passed the time away,
On pleasure's wings--weeks dwindled to a day,
And days to moments--such the charm they cast
O'er every scene, and such their gentle sway,
Making each glad hour seem still brighter than the last.
To them I turned, as Iran's tameless race
Toward their refulgent God looked till the last,
And died still gazing on his radiant face;--
Alas! the spring-time of my year is past--
From them afar my line of life is cast,
And I must wander now like one that's lost--
A helmless bark, blown wide by every blast,
And without hope or joy, on life's rude surges toss'd.
Oh no, it cannot be that grief like this
Should be reserved to blight my coming years--
That moments of such almost perfect bliss
Should be succeeded by an age of tears--
Revive, then, hope, and put to flight my fears;
I'll meet the future with undaunted eye,
Trusting thy light, that now my pathway cheers,
Gilding its onward course, as sunset gilds the sky.