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To A *****Edit

My own Annette! my own Annette!
How often turn my thoughts to thee,
And those sweet hours when erst we met,
And shared our thoughts in converse free!

Around me the soft moonshine pours
A quiet flood of silver light;
And thus o'er memory's hoarded stores,
The star of thought is gleaming bright.

Yet, though long years have glided past,
Since last thy hand was clasp'd in mine,
The chain that friendship o'er us cast,
Hath felt no link of love untwine.

And we may meet in other hours,
And love where we have loved, again;
And talk of all the early flowers
We gather'd on life's by-past plain.

But there are stronger ties than ours,
Remorseless rent by cruel hands;
Torn hearts, o'er which no future hours
Shall fling again the sever'd bands.

Oh! let us weep with those who weep,
Beneath oppression's crushing hand;
And in our thoughts their anguish keep
Who till in tears our guilty land.