Yet think not that my spirit stoops
To bind thee captive in my train!—
Love's not a flower at sunset droops,
But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Love a golden chain and burning vow
Are broken—but I love thee still!
Once what a heaven of bliss was ours,
When love dispelled the clouds of care,
And time went by with birds and flowers,
While song and incense filled the air!
The past is mine—the present thine—
Should thoughts of me thy future fill,
Think what a destiny is mine,
To lose—but love thee, false one, still!
Look From Thy Lattice, Love.
Look from thy lattice, love—
Listen to me!
The cool, balmy breeze
Is abroad on the sea!
The moon, like a queen,
Roams her realms above,
And naught is awake
But the spirit of love.
Ere morn's golden light
Tips the hills with its ray,
Away o'er the waters—
Away and away!
Then look from thy lattice, love—
Listen to me.
While the moon lights the sky,
And the breeze curls the sea!
Look from thy lattice, love—
Listen to me!
In the voyage of life,
Love our pilot will be!
He'll sit at the helm
Wherever we rove,
And steer by the load-star
He kindled above!
His gem-girdled shallop
Will cut the bright spray,
Or skim, like a bird,
O'er the waters away!
Then look from thy lattice, love—
Listen to me,
While the moon lights the sky,
And the breeze curls the sea!
She Loved Him.
She loved him—but she heeded not—
Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
That made her drear and desolate!
She loved him—but the sland'rer came,
With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name—
But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
That drove her lover from her side—
Who hied him to a distant land,
Where, battling for a name, he died!
She loved him—and his memory now
Was treasured from the world apart:
The calm of thought was on her brow,
The seeds of death were in her heart.
For all the world that thing forlorn
I would not, could not be, and live—
That casket with its jewel gone,
A bride who has no heart to give!
The Suitors.
Wealth sought the bower of Beauty,
Dressed like a modern beau:
Just then Love, Health, and Duty
Took up their hats to go.
Wealth such a cordial welcome met,
As made the others grieve;
So Duty shunned the gay coquette,
Love, pouting, took French leave—
He did!
Love, pouting, took French leave!