Alone in crowds to wander on,
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved
Shed round us once, where'er we roved--
This, this the doom must be
Of all who've loved, and lived to see
The few bright things they thought would stay
For ever near them, die away.
Tho' fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,
And want that charm which dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own.
Where, where the sunny brow?
The long-known voice--where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.
Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art can not call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no,--her spell is vain,--
As soon could she bring back again
Those eyes themselves from out the grave,
As wake again one bliss they gave.
I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE.
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here,--
Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps:
I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear,
Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps;
Where summer's wave unmurmuring dies,
Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush;
Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,
The rose saith, chidingly, "Hush, sweet, hush!"
There, amid the deep silence of that hour,
When stars can be heard in ocean dip,
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,
Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip:
Like him, the boy,[1] who born among
The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,
Sits ever thus,--his only song
To earth and heaven, "Hush, all, hush!"
[1] The God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyptians.
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