Ah, yes—before you left me, ere
Our separation was impending,
These eyes had seldom shed a tear—
For mine was joy that knew no ending;
Yes, soon there came a change, too soon:
The first faint cloud that rose to grieve me
Was knowledge I possessed the boon,
And then a fear such bliss might leave me.
This strain is sad: yet, understand,
Your words have made my spirit better:
And when I first took pen in hand,
I meant to write a cheery letter;
But skies were dull,—Rome sounded hot,
I fancied I could live without it:
I thought I'd go—I thought I'd not,
And then I thought I'd think about it.
The sun now glances o'er the Park,
If tears are on my cheek, they glitter;
I think I've kissed your rhymes, for—hark!
My "bulley" gives a saucy twitter.
Your blessed words extinguish doubt,
A sudden breeze is gaily blowing,
And, hark! The minster bells ring out—
"She ought to go! Of course she's going."
OLD LETTERS.
Old letters! wipe away the tear
For vows and hopes so vainly worded?
A pilgrim finds his journal here
Since first his youthful loins were girded.
Yes, here are wails from Clapham Grove,
How could philosophy expect us
To live with Dr. Wise, and love
Rice pudding and the Greek Delectus?
Explain why childhood's path is sown
With moral and scholastic tin-tacks;
Ere sin original was known,
Did Adam groan beneath the syntax?