First Love's Recollections

The grave its mortal dust may keep,
Where tombs and ashes lie;
Death only shall Time's harvest reap,
For Genius cannot die.

FIRST love will with the heart remain
When all its hopes are bye;
As frail rose-blossoms still retain
Their fragrance when they die
And Joy's first dreams will haunt the mind
With shades from whence they sprung,
As Summer leaves the stems behind
On which Spring's blossoms hung.

Mary! I dare not call thee dear,
I've lost that right so long;
Yet once again I vex thine ear
With memory's idle song.
Had time and change not blotted out
The love of former days,
Thou wert the first that I should doubt
Of pleasing with my praise.

When honey'd tokens from each tongue
Told with what truth we loved,
How rapturous to thy lips I clung,
Whilst nought but smiles reproved.
But now, methinks, if one kind word
Was whispered in thine ear,
Thou'dst startle like an untamed bird,
And blush with wilder fear.

How loth to part, how fond to meet,
Had we two used to be!
At sunset, with what eager feet
I hastened unto thee!
Scarce nine days passed us, ere we met
In spring — nay, wintry weather;
Now, nine years' suns have risen and set,
Nor found us once together.

Thy face was so familiar grown,
Thyself so often by,
A moment's memory, when alone,
Would bring thee to mine eye;
But now my very dreams forget
That witching look to trace;
And though thy beauty lingers yet,
It wears a stranger's face.

I felt a pride to name thy name,
But now that pride hath flown;
My words e'en seem to blush for shame,
That own I love thee on.
I felt I then thy heart did share,
Nor urged a binding vow;
But much I doubt if thou couldst spare
One word of kindness now.

And what is now my name to thee,
Though once nought seemed so dear?
Perhaps a jest, in hours of glee,
To please some idle ear.
And yet, like counterfeits, with me
Impressions linger on,
Though all the gilded finery
That passed for truth is gone.

Ere the world smiled upon my lays,
A sweeter meed was mine;
Thy blushing look of ready praise
Was raised at every line.
But now, methinks, thy fervent love
Is changed to scorn severe;
And songs, that other hearts approve,
Seem discord to thine ear.

When last thy gentle cheek I pressed,
And heard thee feign adieu,
I little thought that seeming jest
Would prove a word so true.
A fate like this hath oft befell
E'en loftier hopes than ours;
Spring bids full many buds to swell
That ne'er can grow to flowers.