16 



November 30. 



6< Do those I love e 'er think on me ? " 



How oft that painful doubt will start, 

 To blight the roseate smile of glee, 



And cloud the brow, and sink the heart ! 



No more can I, estranged from home, 



Their pleasures share, nor soothe their moans ; 



To them I 'm dead as were the foam 

 Now breaking o'er my whitening bones. 



And doubtless now with newer friends, 

 The tide of life content they stem ; 



Nor on the sailor think, who bends 



Full many an anxious thought on them. 



Should that reflection cause me pain ? 



No ease for mine their grief could bring ; 

 Enough if, when we meet again, 



Their answering hearts to greet me spring. 



Enough, if no dull joyless eye 



Give signs of kindness quite forgot ; 



Nor heartless question, cold reply, 



Speak — " all is past; I love you not." 



Too much has heav 'n ordain' d of woe, 

 Too much of groans on earth abounds, 



For me to wish one tear to flow 



Which brings no balm for sorrow's wounds. 



Love's moisten'd lid and Friendship's sigh, 



I could not see, I could not hear ! 

 To think " they weep ! " more fills mine eye, 



And smarts the more each tender tear. 



