And the quaint and silent fairy,
Backward, forward, through the gloom,
Wove the matchless, glittering mantle,
Spun the frost-thread on her loom.
And the bare trees talked together,
Talked in whispers soft and low,
As the good and silent fairy
Moved her shuttle to and fro.
And lo! when the golden glory
Of the morning crept abroad,
All the trees were clothed in grandeur,
All the twiglets robed, and shod
With matchless, spotless garments,
That the sunshine decked with gems,
And the trees forgot their sorrow,
'Neath their robes and diadems.
1871
[FLORABELLE]
Did you see Florabelle? Has she passed you this morning?
A tall, slender Maiden, with hair like spun gold.
She has? then I pray you, dear sir, heed my warning,
It is just the old, oft rehearsed story re-told:
Florabelle is a jilt--a coquette--a deceiver.
She angles for hearts, with soft words and sweet smiles.
Forewarned is forearmed, don't you trust or believe her,
Be deaf to her cooing, be blind to her wiles.
She has eyes, like the heart of a blue morning glory,
She has lips like a rose-bud just sprinkled with dew,
'Tis the old hackneyed tale, 'tis the same wretched story,
A woman all fair, yet all false, and untrue.
With her soft silken hair, in its meshes and tangles,
With her pink and white cheek, and her full ruby lips,
With her eyes shining clear, like the heaven's bright sparkles,
She has wrecked as strong hearts as the ocean has ships.
Those blue eyes are ever on watch for a stranger;
She thirsts for fresh conquests, and she has marked you,
I warn you, my friend, that your peace is in danger,
Take heed, lest the day that you met her, you rue.
Don't bask in her smiles, for one moment, but leave her,
Before you're entangled, and find it too late.
Florabelle is a jilt--a coquet--a deceiver,
I have given you warning! now choose your own fate!