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168 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
Shone calmly from the crimson west,
In floods of pleasing light; But ah! it stream'd upon a breast.
That mov'd not at the sight.
No secret charm her spirit caught
From the mild beaming sky; And the soft breeze, with odours fraught,
Awaken'd but a sigh. The flower, in whose unfolding cup
The tear drops fell like rain, From the green sod look'd calmly up,
To claim one glance in vain.
How dark, thought I, must be the grief,
Which veils e'en nature's charm ! When wind, and sky, and verdant leaf,
And the bright sunset calm, No more can wake the echoing chords
Within the human breast,— Ere such a grief shall veil my soul,
0, let me be at rest!
TO MARIANNE. Sister, as the clouds of even
Float along the western sky, And the countless stars of heaven
Lift their glimm'ring tapers high;