THE ANNIVERSARY.
Reading edition
BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE, ENGLAND.
I.
A year hath lingered through its round, Since thou wert with the dead; And yet my bosom's cureless wound Still bleeds as then it bled. All now without is cold and calm; Yet o'er my heart its healing balm Oblivion will not shed: If day beguiles my fond regret, Night comes—and how can I forget?
II.
For mute are then the sounds of mirth I loathe, yet cannot flee; And thoughts in solitude have birth, That lead me back to thee. By day, amid the busy herd, My soul is like the captive bird That struggles to be free; It longs to leave a world unblest, To 'flee away and be at rest!'
III.
Rest! how, alas! shall mortal dare Of rest on earth to dream? The heritage of ceaseless care May better far beseem The child of grief, the heir of wo; And what if mutual love may throw A joy-imparting beam On life's wide waste?—'t is quickly gone, And he must wander on—alone!
IV.
It was no charm of face or mien, That linked my heart to thee; For many fairer have I seen, And fairer yet may see: It was a strong though nameless spell, Which seemed with thee alone to dwell, And this remains to me, And will remain: thy form is fled, But this can e'en recall the dead.
V.
Thine image is before me now, All angel as thou art; Thy gentle eye and guileless brow, Are graven on my heart; And when on living forms I gaze, Mem'ry the one loved form portrays; Ah! would it ne'er depart! And they alone are fair to me, Who wake a livelier thought of thee.
VI.
Oft, too, the fond familiar sound Is present to mine ear; I seem, when all is hushed around, Thy thrilling voice to hear. Oh! could I dream thou still wert nigh, And turn as if to breathe reply, The waking how severe! When on the sickening soul must press The sense of utter loneliness!
VII.
A year hath pass'd!—another year Its wonted round may run; Yet earth will still be dark and drear, As when its course begun. I would not murmur or repine, Yet, though a thousand joys were mine, I still should sigh for one; How could I think of her who died, And taste of joy from aught beside!
VIII.
Yes, dearest! though that treasured love Now casts a gloom o'er all, Thy spirit from its rest above I would not yet recall: My earthly doom thou canst not share, And I in solitude must bear Whate'er may still befal; But I can share thy home, thy heaven, All griefs forgot, all guilt forgiven!