To Mary

Mary ! ten checkered years have past
Since we beheld each other last ;
Yet, Mary, I remember thee,
Nor canst thou have forgotten me.

The bloom was then upon thy face ;
Thy form had every youthful grace ;
I too had then the warmth of youth,
And in our hearts was all its truth.

We conversed, were there others by.
With common mirth and random eye ;
But when escaped the sight of men,
How serious was our converse then !

Our talk was then of years to come.
Of hopes which ask'd a humble doom,
Themes which to loving thoughts might move,
Although we never spake of love.

At our last meeting sure thy heart
Was even as loath as mine to part ;
And yet we little thought that then
We parted — not to meet again.

Long, Mary ! after that adieu.
My dearest day-dreams were of you ;
In sleep I saw you still, and long
Made you the theme of secret song.

When manhood and its cares came on,
The humble hopes of youth were gone ;
And other hopes and other fears
Effaced the thoughts of happier years.

Meantime through many a varied year
Of thee no tidings did I hear,
And thou hast never heard my name
Save from the vague reports of fame.

But then, I trust, detraction's lie
Hath kindled anger in thine eye ;
And thou my praise wert proud to see, —
My name should still be dear to thee.

Ten years have held their course ; thus late
I learn the tidings of thy fate ;
A Husband and a Father now.
Of thee, a Wife and Mother thou.

And, Mary, as for thee I frame
A prayer which hath no selfish aim.
No happier lot can I wish thee
Than such as Heaven hath granted me.