THE POET'S FAREWELL TO LOVE.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
" No oso pensar el dia y hora quando His ojos comengaron a mirarte."—Boscaw.
When first with all a lover's pride I wooed and won thee for my bride, I little thought that thou could'et be Estranged, as now than art, from me ; That love so true and so intense As then within my bosom glowed Would meet with cold indifference : And I, along life's weary road, By her whom I was proud to call my own, Be left to journey on, uncared for and alone.
Yet so it is ; and never more Shall Love in this forsaken breast Be found, as he was wont before, A welcome, a thrice welcome guest.
On that illusion, while a gleam
Of hope remained, 'twits bliss to dwell ;
It was a bright, a flattering dream, Which bound my reason like a spell.
But now I fling my passion to the wind—
Against the insidious bane for ever steel my mind.
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