Rhode Island American And Gazette

From the Amaranth.

Burning Letters.

First, my hand is on the lock,
And the cabinet paus ope
Shall now confide to thee
Things of self, of joy, or hope,
Treasured secrets of the heart
To these mute I breathe from
Not a word must they impart,
But endure them all to dust!

In this childhood's rosy morn,
It was purely all love and money,
Child hours in forever sweet
Ease! Devouring cement,
A warm friend-lily's cherish'd pledge
Friendship sunk a tender fort:
Creeping on its gilded edge,
And the blaze be severed

There—the letter and the token
Never more must meet my view;
When the faith has once been broken,
Let the memory perish too!

Here comes up the blotted leaf,
Blister'd o'er by many a tear!
Hence! thou waking shade of grief!
Go, forever, disappear!

This was penn'd while purest joy
Warm'd the breast and fill'd the eye,
Fate that peace did soon destroy;
And its transcript so must I

This must go! for, on the page,
When I saw the solemn yew
Keener was the pang that stole
'Twas a heart-string snapt in two!

This thin his, who deem'd to be
High as heaven, and true as light;
But the vision fled, and he
Of the face that frown'd beneath—
Spare, O mercy! spare the sight

While I take it, hand and name,
And entwine it with a wreath
Of the purifying flame?

There—the hand is in the grave,
And the soul is in the sky,
Whence they came!—'tis pain to save
Thy cold remains of murder'd ties!

Go together, all, and burn,
Once the treasures of my heart
Still, my bosom shall be an urn
To preserve your better part!