Lines.—oft On That Latest Star

Poem By Louisa Stuart Costello

Oft on that latest star of purest light,
That hovers on the verge of morning gray,
I gaze, and think of eyes that gleam'd as bright,
As fondly linger'd, and yet pass’d away.

While this true heart in every throb can tell
'Tis changeless since the first fond hour we met—
While at thy name it wakes, as to a spell,
I feel 'tis not in nature to forget!

Thou canst not have forgot the tender hour
When we our parting tears together shed;
Thou canst not have forgot the fading flower
That ask'd thy hand to raise its drooping head.

Thy voice, thy looks, thy sighs, too truly spoke—
Oh! how could they deceive thyself and me?
No! death alone the bond of truth has broke,
And cast oblivion on the world and thee!

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When thou stoodst amidst thy countrymen
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Oh! long enough my life has been,
Since I thy love have known;
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Why look'd I on that fatal line?
Why did I pray that page to see?
Too well I knew no word of thine
Was fraught with aught but pain to me.

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I cannot sleep—my nights glide on

In one unbroken thought of thee;

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I have fled from all, and none can now

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