O, wear the ring, and guard the flow- These may have language all thine own, er, Her heart may not be thine! "Go, set thy boat before the blast, "I charm thee from the agony Which others feel or feign, From anger and from jealousy, From doubt and from disdain; I bid thee wear the scorn of years Upon the cheek of youth, And curl the lip at passion's tears, And shake the head at truth: While there is bliss in revelry, Forgetfulness in wine, Be thou from woman's love as free As woman is from thine!" To him a mystery still. Yet scorn thou not for this the true If there be one that o'er the dead Call his a kindred heart! But for those bonds all perfect made, Never to mortals given, O, lay thy lovely dreams aside, KINDRED HEARTS. O, ASK not, hope thou not, too much Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bids the sweet fountains flow: It may be that thy brother's eye Sees not as thine, which turns A rapture o'er thy soul can bring, The tune that speaks of other times, - The melody of distant chimes, The sound of waves by night; The wind that, with so many a tone, Some chord within can thrill, |