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By them, that fear is never felt
Which weakly clings to life,
Be perilled in the strife :
From threatened wrong withdraws ;
That veils an earthly cause.
THE DEPARTED YEAR.
BY H. C. DEAKIN.
The parted year! the parted year!
How many joys are fled and gone, How many feelings disappear
Like shadows o'er a summer's sun! The parted year !-and is there none
To mourn o'er thine expiring form? Yes! there's a heart-a faithful one, Will
pour the death-dirge true and warm.
Come, like mild perfumes from the shore The happy vessel nears at last,
When storms and perils all are o'er! Are all your cherished hours no more,
Mere creatures of deluding dreams? Visions of bliss ! again restore
The beauty of your morning beams.
It cannot be ;-ye ’re perished all,
Save in pale Memory's silent bower; And I may now alone recal
The presence of your parting hour. Come, beautiful and lost! thy power,
Like music down a lonely river, Clings to the soul as bee to flower;
Oh! it will linger there for ever!
Friends have I had -- the year flew by ;
How many hath it borne away? Man, like the hours, is born to die ;
The last year's hours! 0, where are they? The world's pulse doth the world obey,
Heaving like ocean's turbid wave; But ah! it beats but to convey
Creation nearer to its grave!
V. Last summer, how the flowers all bloomed,
Fresh as the dreams of young desire ;Now those sweet flowers are all entombed,
And but their memory lives entire ! Man's thoughts in summer soar the higher,
More ardent than the burning hours; Alas! do chainless thoughts expire,
Transient as ye, last summer flowers?
And the same blessed lights are there ; Bright clustering stars are all at home,
Smiling like Love on lady fair:Ye glorious creatures! thus ye were
Showering pale splendour upon earth ,But ah! no more the perished year
Will hail with joy your welcome birth.
I gaze upon the gliding stream,
Its diamond waters onward flow, And over it the morning beam
Shines as it did a year ago:“Out upon Time's” destructive blow!
Do the same murmuring waters wave? Alas! sad Memory answers, “No:"
They ’re buried in their ocean grave!
The plains are clad with verdure new,
And the green leaf is on the tree; The mountains bold burst on my view,
But they are not the same to me;Old friends with faces new ye be,
But not with lovelier looks appear; Leafless and naked all were ye,
Ere fled the last departed year!
Floating on seas of airy bliss;
But last spring was as bright as this ! What birds and flowers do I not miss
What hues of beauty, sounds of love ; Though other flowers the streamlet kiss,
And other warblers haunt the grove ?
Solemn as deep sea-sounds ye come,
The beautiful are in the tomb! O Mary! where is all thy bloom,
Thy brow, so bright-thine eye, so clear? Where are they? Ask the fatal doom,
That shrouded the departed year!
Thee still in every orb of night;
I think it is thine own love-light. And ah! there is no zephyr's flight
But what 't is Mary's voice I deem ; Away! ye visions of delight,
Ye are but Passion's faithless dream!
With words so sad upon my tongue;
Why promptest thou my mournful song? Down to the dust ye feelings strong,
Dust as ye are, despite of tears ;For lo! pale shadows sweep along,
Shades of the sad departed years!