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234      EMMA C. EMBURY.

But woman knows one only dream—
That broken, all is o'er;
For on life's dark and sluggish stream
Hope's sunbeam rests no more.


DARK THOUGHTS.

AH! is this, then, the common lot—
The end of earthly love and trust?
To be by cherished ones forgot,
When the frail body sleeps in dust?
Shall hearts, which now with love run o'er,
Retain for us no deeper trace
Than leaves the foot-print on the shore,
Which the next wavelet may efface?

Shall those who once could only live
Within the sunshine of our smile,
To whom existence could not give
A joy unshared by us the while:
Shall they 'mid other joys live on,
And form anew affection's tie,
When we from earth's delights are gone,
For ever hid from human eye?

Ay, thus it is th' eternal laws
That rule our nature are obeyed:
Not in mid conflict may we pause
To linger long where love is laid;
We pile the turf above the breast
Which pillowed oft our aching head,
Then turn, and leave unto its rest
Our buried, half-forgotten dead.

Tears—the heart's desolating rain,
Awhile upon our path may fall,


EMMA C. EMBURY.      235

But hope's sweet sunshine smiles again
On all things save the funeral pall:—
Anon the dirge's mournful measure
Is changed to some less saddening strain,
And soon the echoing voice of pleasure
Tells Love and Grief alike were vain.

We form new schemes of future bliss,
New flowers spring up to cheer our way,
And scarcely from our side we miss
The partners of life's earlier day;
Alas! how vain our noblest feelings,
How idle would affection seem,
Did not God give us bright revealings
Of Life, where Love is not a dream!


HEEDLESSNESS.

WHEN like a fairy scene, in youth,
The untried world is spread before us,
When fancy wears the garb of truth,
And sunny skies are shining o'er us;
When never yet a dream of woe
The heart's deep sympathies have stirred,
How little then our spirits know
The evils of a thoughtless word!

When one by one our joys depart,
When hope no more each bright hour measures,
When, like a Niobe, the heart
Sits lonely 'mid its perished treasures;
When far from human aid we turn,
And human comfort is unheard,
Oh! then, how bitterly we learn
The anguish of a thoughtless word!  

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 19:16:51 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 10:16:17 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 09:20:27 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 09:14:42 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 13:40:31