  Glide on, sweet purling stream, And mingle with the sea; Adown each glen thy waters gleam, In merry dance and free. Sing on, sweet bird; the blue expanse Of heaven’s vault is thine; O lap thy soul into a trance; Pour forth thy song divine; But I must not give forth my strain; I love a maid, but love in vain. The blithesome bird that haunts the vale Will bear but half her grief; She floats her sorrow on the gale, And gives her soul relief; The meanest floweret on the field Basks in the noonday sun; And every creature hath a rest, When daily toil is done; I to myself make bootless moan, And bear my burden all alone. A grief that links two hearts in bliss, Is but a hidden treasure; What’s but a thorn when singly borne, When shared becomes a pleasure; The finer feelings of the soul Are known by mutual union; Each spirit hath its counterpart, With whom to hold communion; But she is gone, and leaves with me The rest of the unsleeping sea. Æ. P. Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh. All Rights Reserved. [Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text. Page 162: glyphograpy to glyphography—“executed in glyphography”.] |
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