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II

Ah, love, forget me if I e'er forget

The morn when first thy dewy lips touched mine !
When in the marriage of our souls we met,

And mingled kisses that were draughts divine
From love's delightful fountains; when our hands
Were joined by powers that thrilled our hearts with

awe;

When in thy tender eyes that light I saw
Whereof no gleam was in the barren lands
What time I knew thee not!

O joy supreme !
Transcending utterly all other bliss!
Joy that didst wake me from an idle dream,
To consecrate my rapture with a kiss,
My darkened soul thou didst illuminate;
Therefore I praise thee! Love alone is great!

III

Dear love, thine eyes are like an open book,
With noble poems on its perfect page;
Dear love, when in thy dreaming eyes I look,
Methinks I am at last a mighty sage,

So many wonders have I read therein,

So many secrets learned that none can know,
Save I who love thee. I would fain begin
Anew my lessons, nor from study go

Till stealthy hand of Death shall touch my heart,
And still its beating. Why may I not learn,

By gazing in thine eyes, some magic art
To make the flame of life forever burn?
But if I die before thee, thou wilt seal
The book, nor any of its lore reveal.

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Nay, I think my heart is whole;
But the anguish of my soul
Since our love has reached its goal,
Since its flight is over,
Nothing human can portray,
Song nor story ne'er can say,
Pleasure ne'er can drive away

From thy hapless lover!

STANLEY.

(ON HIS SECOND RETURN FROM AFRICA.)

DEAR friend, while you across the mighty fields
Of unknown Africa carved out your way,

My heart went with you, and my love still yields
A proud devotion, on this brighter day
Which brings you, crowned with laurel, to my side.
I said, while others feared, 'He will not bide
Where Congo's foaming cataracts upbraid
The strong adventurer who dares invade
Their awful solitudes; he cannot stay
Where tropic sunbeams on the palm leaves play.
From that fair Heaven which bends above us all
His star of destiny can never fall;

'Tis fixed and guided by Eternal hands;

It shines upon him now in lonely lands;
Deep in his soul by day he feels its flame,
By night upon the clouds it writes his fame;

In dream or vigil, and in peace or war,

He has the comfort of that guiding star!

Why were you dowered thus, when you were born,
My hero, with a stern unending scorn
Of danger, hunger, thirst, fatigue, disease,
Of poisoned arrow and of stormy seas,
Of lion's roar and serpent's tooth, of all
Strange perils that weak mortal might befall
In those dread lands which no Caucasian knew?
What classed you thus among the immortal few
Whose names are written in the golden book
On which we simpler mortals humbly look?
What gave you courage, when from Zanzibar
You pierced to Tanganyika's lake afar?
What cooled the fever in your aching veins?
What nerved your limbs against their racking pains?
What dulled the edge of wild Mirambo's spear?
What taught you sturdily to laugh at fear
When to your tent the fell assassin crept,
Forgetful that your star shone when you slept?
What gave you grace to find sad Livingstone,
When he had lain him down to die alone?

'Twas destiny. We call it Providence. You call it so.

In one fine mood intense,

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