Yes, yes, my Lyra, love like mine,
Form’d in the orient dawn of day,10
That spark of ecstasy divine,
Time never, never can decay.
Yes, I may rove from flow’r to flow’r,
Yes, I may sip the roseate dew,
But still, believe me, ev’ry hour,
The heart will turn to love, and you!
Whene’er you mark man’s darken’d hue,—
Whene’er you hear him swear to prove,
For ever, to your beauties, true,
Believe him not!—he cannot love!20
But, when yon view the glance of shame,
But, when you catch the falt’ring tone
Of youth, first warm’d to passion’s flame,
Oh! that is love,—and love alone!
GERALDINE;
OR,
THE FATAL BOON.
A ROMANTIC TALE.
Written at Fourteen.
GERALDINE.
PART I.
The morning dawn’d serenely gay;
The feather’d warblers hail’d the day;
The sun it shone forth bright and fair;
And vernal fragrance wooed the air.
O’er the brown hill and verdant green,
A thousand joyous forms were seen;
All Nature’s works were blithe and gay,—
For this was Osmond’s nuptial day.