Page:Hemans Miscellaneous Poetry 6.pdf/6



is thy pity makes me weep, My soul was strong before; Silent, yet strong its griefs to keep From vainly gushing o'er. Turn from me, turn those gentle eyes! In this fond gaze my spirit dies: Look on me thus no more!

Too late that softness comes to bless, My heart's glad life is o'er; It will but break with tenderness, Which cannot now restore! The lyre-strings have been jarr'd too long, Winter hath touch'd the source of song! Look on me thus no more!