MEMORIES.
Reading edition
———
BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.
———
Once more, once more, my Mary dear,
I sit by that lone stream,
Where first within thy timid ear
I breathed love’s burning dream;
The birds we loved still tell their tales
Of music on each spray,
And still the wild rose decks the vale—
But thou art far away.
In vain thy vanished form I seek,
By wood and stream and dell,
And tears of anguish bathe my cheek
Where tears of rapture fell;
And yet beneath these wild-wood bowers
Dear thoughts my soul employ,
For in the memories of past hours,
There is a mournful joy.
Upon the air thy gentle words
Around me seem to thrill,
Like sounds upon the wind-harp’s chords
When all the winds are still,
Or like the low and soul-like swell
Of that wild spirit-tone
Which haunts the hollow of the bell
When its sad chime is done.
I seem to hear thee speak my name
In sweet low murmurs now,
I seem to feel thy breath of flame
Upon my cheek and brow;
On my cold lips I feel thy kiss,
Thy heart to mine is laid—
Alas that such a dream of bliss
Like other dreams must fade!