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XX.

To * * * * * *

WELL! thou art happy, and I feel

That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband's blest—and 'twill impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass-Oh! how my heart

Would hate him, if he loved thee not!

When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break; But when th' unconscious infant smiled,

I kissed it, for its mother's sake.

I kissed it, and repressed my sighs

Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou 'art blest I'll not repine ; But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

I deemed that time, I deemed that pride

Had quenched at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all, save hope, the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime

We met, and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there : One only feeling could’st thou trace;

The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?

My foolish heart be still, or break.

XXI.

From the Portuguese.

In moments to delight devoted,

“My life!" with tend'rest tone, you cry; Dear words! on which my heart had doted,

If youth could neither fade nor die. To death even hours like these must roll,

Ah! then repeat those accents never; Or change “ my life!” into “ my soul!"

Which, like my love, exists for ever.

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