Poem by Louisa Stuart Costello

To a False Friend

Adieu!—'tis past—the dream is over,
   And we are friends no more;
And now my task shall be to smother
   Thoughts prized too well before—
That we have ever loved or met,
All, but our parting, to forget.

Thou, the first friend my heart had chosen—
  Whose wish, whose hope was mine,
Farewell!—the once warm vows are frozen
   That lured my fate to thine:
Each link of that bright chain is gone
That bound our mutual hearts in one.

I will not blame my soul's believing,
   That ne'er thy faults could see;
The error was thy own deceiving,
   Not mine, who trusted thee:
This heart can never learn to fear
Deceit in one it holds so dear.

How could I hear, without relying,
   Thy lute's wild melody,
Though false as Echo's voice replying
   To some lone wand'rer's cry—
Unworthy as the scentless flower,
Whose beauty is its only dower?

Of all the moments since our meeting,
    When both seem'd fond and true,
Now thou art cold as they were fleeting,
    Be this my last review:
No more—our hearts, our fates must sever,
And I erase thy name for ever!

1. The Return to Paraclete
2. Lines (I cannot sleep—my nights glide on)
3. Song (I will not ask one glance from thee)
4. Sylph's Song
5. Medjnoon in His Solitude

Thomas Hood To a False Friend ("Our hands have met, but not our hearts")

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