Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1831.pdf/7

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Won from his native sunbeams. I have known Too much of this, and would not see another Thus daily die. If it be so with thee, My gentle Zamor, speak. Behold, our bark Yet, with her white sails catching sunset's glow, Lies within signal reach. If it be thus, Then fare thee well, farewell, thou brave, and true, And generous friend! How often is our path Crossed by some being whose bright spirit sheds A passing gladness o'er it, but whose course Leads down another current, never more To blend with ours! Yet far within our souls, Amidst the rushing of the busy world, Dwells many a secret thought, which lingers yet Around that image. And e'en so, kind Zamor, Shalt thou be long remembered!

. By the fame Of my brave sire, whose deeds the warrior tribes Tell round the desert's watch fire, at the hour Of silence, and of coolness, and of stars, I will not leave thee. 'Twas in such an hour The dreams of rest were on me, and I lay Shrouded in slumber's mantle, as within The chambers of the dead. Who saved me then, When the Pard, soundless as the midnight, stole Soft on the sleeper? Whose keen dart transfixed The monarch of the solitudes? I woke, And saw thy javelin crimsoned with his blood, Thou, my deliverer! and my heart e'en then Called thee its brother.