Page:Records of Woman.pdf/28

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Hath been thine exiled youth; but now take back, From dying hands, thy freedom, and re-track (After a few kind tears for her whose days Went out in dreams of thee) the sunny ways Of hope, and find thou happiness! Yet send, Ev'n then, in silent hours a thought, dear friend! Down to my voiceless chamber; for thy love Hath been to me all gifts of earth above, Tho' bought with burning tears! It is the sting Of death to leave that vainly-precious thing In this cold world! What were it then, if thou, With thy fond eyes, wert gazing on me now? Too keen a pang!—Farewell! and yet once more, Farewell!—the passion of long years I pour Into that word: thou hear'st not,—but the wo And fervour of its tones may one day flow To thy heart's holy place; there let them dwell— We shall o'ersweep the grave to meet—Farewell!