If thy love were like mine, how blest That twilight hour would seem, When, back from the regretted Past, Returned our early dream!
If thy love were like mine, how wild Thy longings, even to pain, For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, To bring that hour again!
But oft, when in thine arms I lay, I've seen thy dark eyes shine, And deeply felt their changeful ray Spoke other love than mine.
My love is almost anguish now, It beats so strong and true;'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou Such anguish ever knew.
I have been but thy transient flower, Thou wert my god divine;Till checked by death's congealing power, This heart must throb for thine.
And well my dying hour were blest, If life's expiring breath Should pass, as thy lips gently prest My forehead cold in death;And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, Beneath the churchyard tree, If sometimes in thy heart should beat One pulse, still true to me.
PARTING.
There's no use in weeping, Though we are condemned to part:
There's such a thing as keeping A remembrance in one's heart:
There's such a thing as dwelling On the thought ourselves have nursed, And with scorn and courage telling The world to do its worst.
We'll not let its follies grieve us, We'll just take them as they come;And then every day will leave us A merry laugh for home.
When we've left each friend and brother, When we're parted wide and far, We will think of one another, As even better than we are.
Every glorious sight above us, Every pleasant sight beneath, We'll connect with those that love us, Whom we truly love till death!
In the evening, when we're sitting By the fire, perchance alone, Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, Give responsive tone for tone.
We can burst the bonds which chain us, Which cold human hands have wrought, And where none shall dare restrain us We can meet again, in thought.
So there's no use in weeping, Bear a cheerful spirit still;Never doubt that Fate is keeping Future good for present ill!
APOSTASY.
This last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard;And, though upon my bed of death, I call not back a word.