Song.

A poem by Frances Anne Kemble

Yet once again, but once, before we sever,
Fill we one brimming cup, - it is the last!
And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,
Breathe o'er this pledge, "the memory of the past!"

Joy's fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow
Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,
Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfilled with sorrow,
Lives one sweet drop, - the memory of the past.

But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining
Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;
But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,
Now farewell all, save memory of the past.

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