How well that youthful vow was kept,
Is written on a deathless page—
Vain all regrets, vain tears we've wept,
The record lives from age to age.
But one who "doeth all things well,"
Who made us differ from the throng,
Has it within his heart to quell
This torturing pain of thirst, ere long.
And you, whose soul is all aglow
With fire Prometheus brought from heaven,
Shall in some future surely know
Joys for which high desires are given.
Not always in a restless pain
Shall beat your heart, or throb your brow;
Not always shall you sigh in vain
For hope's fruition, hidden now.
Beloved, are your tear-drops dried?
The moon is riding high above:—
Though each from other's parted wide,
We have not parted early love.
And tho' you never are forgot,
The moonrise in the east shall be
The token that my evening thought
Returns to home, and love and thee!
VERSES FOR M.
The river on the east
Ripples its azure flood within my sight;
And, darting from the west,
Are "sunset arrows," feathered with red light.
The northern breeze has hung
His wintry harp upon some giant pine;
