Classic Poem

'Tis many a day since last we met,
And more may be ere we shall meet;
And sad the change since then—but yet
The memory of the past is sweet.
Still, still my heart shall never bow
To sue for past delights again,
Nor let thee know, in secret, how
Thine alter'd heart has given me pain.

Thou hast not seen a bitter tear,
Thou hast not heard a secret sigh;
And scarcely wouldst thou deem that e'er
My heart was wrung, if thou wert by.
I've proved thee false—I know thee changed—
I saw thee fly when friends were few;
And thou, whom least I deem'd estranged,
Heard'st whispers, and believed them true.

I did not soon believe thy breast
Could thus forsake an injured one;
And, ere I did, thou hadst express'd
Scorn cold, as few before had done.
Oh then!—the feeling of that hour!
The cherish'd tie so rudely broke;
The one I trusted thus to lower
And crush me with a parting stroke!

Pride, burning pride, and hate awhile
Possess'd my soul, and then I thought
On thee, but with a scornful smile,
Nor knew the ruin thou hadst wrought.
Thy fond, kind smile, thy laughing eye,
Thy converse rich in favourite lore;
The deference paid when I was by,
The plaudits of me o'er and o'er:

And canst thou then remember these?
And canst thou say they were my due?
And didst thou once so strive to please,
That what I did thou didst it too?
Yes, I was then a friend so dear,
Because I had no cause to claim,
In hour deserted, dark and drear,
What more in friendship was than name.

But when I sadly stood alone,
Aim'd at, and shunn'd like stricken deer;
How was the alien thought unknown,
That even thou wouldst shun me here!
Yes, changeling! thou art false I know,
And I can never prize thee more;
Yet will my memory lingering go
Mid ruin'd hopes, and pleasures o'er.

Thou dost not know I love to trace
Remembrances of friendship flown;—
Thou shalt not know that thou hast place
In bosom injured as mine own.
I cannot love thee as thou art,
Yet must I muse on things gone by,
Then from the faded vision start,
And loathe thee for thy perfidy!