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Hadst thou been coarse of form and mien,

Or base of mind and heart,

Small comfort it perchance had been

To know thee as thou art;

Then she and I might both have grieved
That our own visions, half believed,
For ever must depart

Before one disenchanting glance

Of thy long look'd for countenance.

IV.

But we have seen thee-seen the mind
That lights thy full dark eye;
Enjoy'd thy feelings warm and kind,
Thy spirit clear and high;

Have follow'd thee through thought's wide range

With many a cordial interchange

Of mutual sympathy;

And seen thee tread the paths of life

The friend, the mother, and the wife.

V.

Henceforth there dwells in either heart
A form of flesh and blood,

Not shaped by fancy's treacherous art,
But known and understood:

No frail creation of the thought,
From frail materials feebly wrought,

In some fantastic mood;

But one whose real traits express

Distinct and breathing loveliness.

VI.

Thanks for thy visit; thanks for all
Which thou wilt leave behind;
The light that on our hearts will fall
From thy reflected mind;

The frank good will, the generous love,
The frequent thought on things above,
I he speech sincere, but kind,

The humour gay, the sportive mirth,

The laugh that gladdens home and hearth.

VII.

Thanks for all these: we know not how

Their worth is prized elsewhere;

But here our grateful hearts avow
That thou art good and fair.
And here thy memory still shall dwell,
A pleasant thought, a soothing spell
To blunt the stings of care;

Thy substitute, when thou art gone,
For friendly thought to rest upon.

VIII.

And thou-when thou once more shalt see

Thy home in hot Bengal,

Shall no remembrance cleave to thee

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The friends whom here we love so well,

The quiet haunts in which we dwell,
The interests, great and small,
The tranquil pleasures, cares and ways
Which fill the English pastor's days?

L

IX.

Take with thee, Marion, thoughts like these

To cheer thy Indian home,
And give thy burthen'd spirit ease
When grief and care shall come.
Go, tell our friends, who linger there,
Our fields are pleasant as they were
Ere they began to roam;

Tell them that, come when come they will,
They'll find our hearts unalter'd still.

X.

Nor worthless, nor by them unfelt
Such words from us will be;
Nor slow, perchance, their hearts to melt
When they shall speak with thee
Still fresh from calm familiar talk,
From fireside laugh and evening walk
With my sweet wife and me;

Thy voice a breeze from happier climes,
Breathing old thoughts, old joys, old times.

XI.

There's one who soothed us here erewhile,
In days of care and pain,

With the sweet sunshine of her smile-
Our own beloved Jane.

Her gentle heart 'twill surely stir,

To think that here thou'st roam'd like her,

And lain where she hath lain;

Hast track'd the paths her footsteps press'd,

And shared, like her, our household rest.

XII.

High intercourse methinks should be
Between her soul and thine,
And store of mutual sympathy
In thoughts and cares divine.
With open heart and serious speech
May ye take counsel, each with each,
From Truth's exhaustless mine
Extracting treasures richer far

Than those of eastern monarchs are.

XIII.

We know not if in after years

We e'er may meet again;

Nor whether, then, in smiles or tears,
In pleasure or in pain :

But this we know, that whatsoe'er
The burthen each may have to bear,
"Twill not be borne in vain,
If so our sever'd souls may be
Prepared for immortality.

XIV.

Farewell! mayst thou in yon dark land
Thy hard course shape aright,
And shed o'er that fraternal band
Thy spirit's inner light;

Stern duty's arduous course pursue,
Thy human will, thyself subdue

By faith's all-conquering might;
And meet us, when life's toil is done,
The good fight fought, the victory won.
May, 1836.

TO SYLVIA.

I.

MAIDEN, on thy vaunted beauty
Never yet mine eye hath fed;
But, between young love and duty,
Thou, I know, art sore bested.
Love indeed hath been to thee
No vain trick of phantasy.

II.

Haply childhood's visions told thee

He was mild, and bland, and fair; Would with soft embrace enfold thee From the touch of pain and care; Strew thy path with brightest flowers, Twine above thee myrtle bowers.

III.

Such, in Eden's blissful valleys,

Love perchance might still have been,

Had not hell's triumphant malice

Marr'd his sweetness, dimm'd his sheen; Such doth Fancy paint him still

To the longing heart and will.

IV.

Tell us, maiden, hast thou found him

Thus delicious, thus divine?

Doth such witchery breathe around him? Is his spirit so benign?

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