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IRISH MELODIES. |
71 |
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Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,
This heart long had sleeping lain, Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again.
Sweet voice of comfort! 't was like the stealing
Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell — Each secret winding, each inmost feeling
Of all my soul echo'd to its spell! 'T was whisper'd balm —'twas sunshine spoken! —
I'd live years of grief and pain To have my long sleep of sorrow broken
By such benign, blessed sounds again. |
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WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee, And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee. I saw thee change, yet still relied, Still clung with hope the fonder, And thought, tho' false to all beside, From me thou couldst not wander. But go, deceiver ! go, —
The heart, whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it. f 4 |
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