And though this widowed heart may love another—
For living without love, it soon would die—
There will be moments when it cannot smother
Thy sweet remembrance with a passing sigh.
Amidst the ashes of its dying embers
For thee there will be found one deathless thought;
Yes, dearest lady! while this heart remembers,
Believe me, thou shall never be forgot.
Once more farewell! Oh it is hard to yield thee,
To lose for life, forever, thing so fair!
How bright a destiny it were to shield thee—
Yet since I am denied the husband's care,
This grief within my breast here do I smother—
Forego thy painful sacrifice to prove,
That I have been, what never can another,
The hero of thy heart, my own sweet victim love.
THE FADED ROSE.
BY G. G. FOSTER.
Torn from its stem to bloom awhile
Upon thy breast, the dazzling flower
Imbibed new radiance from thy smile—
But, ah! it faded in an hour.
So thou, from peaceful home betrayed,
In beaming beauty floated by;
But ere thy summer had decayed,
We saw thee languish, faint and die.
Extempore. On a Broken Harp-string.
Too rude the touch—the broken cord
No more may utter music-word,
Yet lives each tone within the air,
Its trembling sighs awakened there.
So in my heart the song I sung,
When thou in rapture o'er me hung,
Still lives—yet thine is not the spell
To lure the music from its shell.