The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 22, Page 437
SONG.
"Oh! cast thou not
Affection from thee! in this bitter world
Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast,
Watch—guard it—suffer not a breath to dim
The bright gem's purity!"
If thou hast crush'd a flower,
The root may not be blighted;
If thou hast quench'd a lamp,
Once more it may be lighted;
But on thy harp or on thy lute,
The string which thou hast broken,
Shall never in sweet sound again
Give to thy touch a token!
If thou hast loos'd a bird,
Whose voice of song could cheer thee,
Still, still he may be won
From the skies to warble near thee;
But if upon the troubled sea
Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,
Hope not that wind or wave shall bring
The treasure back when needed.
If thou hast bruis'd a vine,
The Summer's breath is healing,
And its cluster yet may glow
Through the leaves their bloom revealing;
But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown
With a bright draught fill'd—oh! never
Shall Earth give back that lavish'd wealth
To cool thy parch'd lip's fever!
The heart is like that cup,
If thou waste the love it bore thee,
And like that jewel gone,
Which the deep will not restore thee;
And like that string of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd;—
—Gently, oh! gently touch the chords
So soon for ever shatter'd!F. H.
