Raim. Where’er I roam,
Thou shalt be with my soul! Thy soft low voice
Shall rise upon remembrance, like a strain
Of music heard in boyhood, bringing back
Life’s morning freshness. Oh! that there should be
Things which we love with such deep tenderness,
But, through that love, to learn how much of woe
Dwells in one hour like this! Yet weep thou not!
We shall meet soon; and many days, dear love!
Ere I depart.