To
Mary
Permit
me, my friend, to ask of you
One
favor more than is my due.
Wherever
you or I may be
Will
you, dear friend, remember me
Though
oceans vast may part our lot
Through
every change, forget me not.
In
memory’s deep recess, thy name
Shall
be embalmed by many a tear
And
ever friendship’s sacred flame
Fed
by an absent friend thus dear.
Mary
Montville Sept 5th 1832
[first
two lines, below, Proverbs 4:23]
Thoughts
for an Album
Keep
thy heart with all diligence
For
out of it are the issues of life.
“Tis
said that hearts have albums. On their page
Fond
memory writeth with a diamond pen,
And
Hope and Fancy leave their pencil tints
And
love its bright creations. It were rash
To
trust such tablet to the careless house
For
vanity’s inscription. Blot or stain
Were
fearful there—for pausing Penitence
Must
with her bitter waters cleanse it out.
The
deep impressions on these mystic leaves
Possess
a mighty power. Back they recall
From
time’s deep sepulchre lost friendship’s smile
Bid
Grief’s long slumb’ring tides, the eye suffuse
Or
wake cold pulses to the thrill of joy.
Guard
thy heart’s album, of its slightest trace
Who
knoweth the full import? It doth help
To
fashion motive, and to color fate.
Nor
canst thou tell how strong a thread it weaves
Into
the web of deathless destiny
Till
at that solemn audit thou dost stand
Where
deed and thought their perfect right shall have
And
just reward.
M.E.L.
1848
To
Mary, on her Marriage—
“Love’s
sweet affections intermingled are
With
life’s full springtide, and the flow of bliss
While
the latter flow, the former float
Upon
the surge of life, til all is lost
In the vast ocean of eternity
Affection springs not from the gross and
base
Materials
of humanity. “Tis soul—
The
blest ‘divinity that reigns within’—
The
nobler part of nature that goes forth
To
meet a kindred spirit in some form
Worthy
of such a residence—and found,
Like
dew drops on a single spray, unite.
Attraction
forcing them to join their fates,
Their
joys and woes—and share and share alike.
Existence
then becomes the same. Their weal,
Their
woe is one—inseparable.
But love, though ardent, should not hope
too much;
Defects,
unseen by love’s eyes, exist,
And
constant observation points them out—
Affection,
thus, may be exchanged and love
Drawn
like the needle from its wonted pole
By
real causes—wander. But if love
Did
e’er exist, pure and unmixed with base
And
grov’ling passions of the earth—it will
Soon,
like the needle to its natural pole,
Return
when local causes cease to act:
But
as the unknown power that to the north
Attracts
the needle’s point may weaker grow—
By
too oft counteraction—so may love!
Love
when most ardent, most endangered is
For
then it feels a slight most keen—and who
The
pangs of unrequited love can bear?
The
cold and distant look, unkind remark,
The
hasty answer, or repulsive act,
Serve
to estrange and cool the warmest love
That
ever burned within the human heart.
Pride
thus is wounded and to this succeeds
The
still more dangerous foe to nuptual bliss—
Cold,
base distrust—love’s dissolution follows,
Hope
perishes—existence then becomes
A
cheerless waste.
You
who have now obeyed the dictates of the heart
And
mingled cares and pleasures, hopes and fears,
Your
joys and sorrows in the happy cup
Of
Hymen’s blissful rites—avoid, oh shun
The
approach of coldness, or neglect, distrust,
Or
e’en indifference towards each other.
Connubial
love is a most tender plant,
Which,
once uprooted, ne’er will thrive again.
No
care can e’er transplant, nor rear it up,
Nor
tenderness again enliven it
When
once ‘tis taken from its paternal soil,
Upon
its first, its native land alone
Will
it e’er thrive—upon no other soil
Will
it e’er bud or blossom , but will stand,
Like
the proud oak, scathed by the bolt of heaven,
An
outline of its former nobleness,
An
awful contrast to that happy state
Which
it would still enjoy, had not a blight
Pass’d
o’er its form, as ruthless, and as seer,
And
fatal as the curse of God.”
May
4th 1833 Elizabeth
T.