Page:Keepsake 1833.pdf/7

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Her heart is not with our old hall, Nor with the things of yore; And yet, methinks she must recall What was so dear before. She wept to leave the fond roof where She had been loved so long, Though glad the peal upon the air, And gay the bridal throng.

Yes, memory has honey cells, And some of them are ours, For in the sweetest of them dwells The dream of early hours. The hearth, the hall, the window-seat, Will bring us to her mind; In yon wide world she cannot meet All that she left behind.

Loved, and beloved, her own sweet will It was that made her fate; She has a fairy home—but still Our own seems desolate. We may not wish her back again, Not for her own dear sake: Oh! love, to form one happy chain, How many thou must break!