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 And yet, my friend, When love and joy are strong, Your terrible visage from my sight I rend With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along, By mine your shadow led, "Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!"

Still, you are near: Who can your care withstand? When deep eternity shall look most clear, Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land, My joy shall disappear,— A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand.

THE CLOCK'S SONG

Eileen of four, Eileen of smiles; Eileen of five, Eileen of tears; Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, Eileen of youth And woman's wiles; Eileen of twenty, In love's land, Eileen all tender In her bliss, Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss,