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XI.

THE CHANOE.

Ah! woe is me! how have I fallen from My height—my heaven of heavens—my Eden fair, Down to this lower world of grief—despair, To trail the dust like any other worm! Where are my wings that erst outsoared the storm, As the bold eagle cleaves the upper air? Where are the sylphs that twined my flowing hair, 'Trancing me till they spoke their loving warm? Ah! where the soul, whose pinions under mine, Did waft me up against the glowing stars, Or with me float upon their silvery spars Along the wide empyrean blue.—Supine I lie, adrift adown the dreary dark, Where dawns no beacon-star to guide my helmless bark. XII.

THE RIVER OF THE PAST.

I'm roving up the river of the past, Where thou and I, Adhemar, hand in hand— Cheek pressed to cheek, whilom, were wont to stand, Watching the golden moments as they passed; Or, speechless, gaze into each other's eyes Until our souls arose in those expanses, And stood up, face to face, exchanging glances Of love, then swooned away in ecstasies. Cupid through us gained immortality— A passport through the gates of Eden won, Since, while our flame lent ardor to the sun, It held within itself a purity That lifted it above the thought of sin — And the full sanction of both heaven and earth did win. XIII.

THE PARTING.

Tis just one year ago, beloved, to-day, Since, my pale hand between thy hands compressed, I laid my burning brow upon thy breast, And bade the flood-gates of my heart give way, Then shut them down upon its streams for aye. We sought to speak, yet neither said farewell; Fate rang her larum through my spirit's cell Until the chill of death upon me lay.— I never could re-live that hour again, Through every artery shot an icy pang, As if an adder pierced me with its fang, And dashed the roseate fount of life with bane— Mine eyes were open, yet I could not see— I breathed, yet I was dead—all things were dead to me. XIV.

LOVE WITHOUT A PARALLEL.

My love for thee had not a parallel—
The dusky Queen of Egypt had ignored
The dizzy height to which my passion soared.
The burning Lesbian, in her island dell,
Had never strung her lyre to such a height,
Lest at the tension it had sprung apart,
And lain all shattered, shivering, like her heart
Such love begot not Helen's fatal flight,
As thou, Adhemar, in my breast inspired.
Had Anthony, Phaon, Paris been as true
To all Love ever dreamed, or felt, or knew,
As thou, whose gallant soul my being fired,
The Orient Queen had wooed no aspic sleep,
Nor Sappho made the wild Leucadian leap.

XV.

ADIEU.

Adieu—adieu! In silent tears we parted To journey on, diverging as two beams That from the equatorial line have started, Bending their faces towards the earth's extremes. All day my bosom heaves with heavy sighs— All day I sing thy favorite songs and weep— All night I gaze into thy luminous eyes, Or clasp thy shadow in my feverish sleep.— Oh! for the love that was for death too strong Oh! for the sweet-charmed hours that sped too soon, When thou didst steal from Beauty's laughing throng, To meet me by the soft consenting moon, Inclasp my hand in tremulous delight, And bend on me thine eyes angelically bright.

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