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14 |
IRISH MELODIES. |
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HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR.
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise, And memory breathes her vesper sigh to tnee.
And, as I watch the line of light, that plays
Along the smooth wave tow'rd the burning west,
I long to tread that golden path of rays,
And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest. |
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TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE.
WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK.
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill. Thoughts come as pure as light,
Pure as even you require : But oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.
Yet let me keep the book :
Oft shall my heart renew, "When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you. Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there. |
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