I thought,—and, oh! forgive the thought,
For none was e'er by love inspired
Whom fancy had not also taught
To hope the bliss his soul desired.
Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind,
Though yet to that sweet mind unknown,
I left one infant wish behind,
One feeling, which I called my own.
Oh blest! though but in fancy blest,
How did I ask of Pity's care,
To shield and strengthen, in thy breast,
The nursling I had cradled there.
And, many an hour, beguiled by pleasure,
And many an hour of sorrow numbering,
I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure,
I left within thy bosom slumbering.
Perhaps, indifference has not chilled it,
Haply, it yet a throb may give—
Yet, no—perhaps, a doubt has killed it;
Say, dearest—does the feeling live?
TO CARA,
ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY.
When midnight came to close the year,
We sighed to think it thus should take
The hours it gave us—hours as dear
As sympathy and love could make
Their blessed moments,—every sun
Saw us, my love, more closely one.
But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh
Which came a new year's light to shed,
That smile we caught from eye to eye
Told us, those moments were not fled:
Oh, no,—we felt, some future sun
Should see us still more closely one.
Thus may we ever, side by side,
From happy years to happier glide;
And still thus may the passing sigh
We give to hours, that vanish o'er us,
Be followed by the smiling eye,
That Hope shall shed on scenes before us!