YOUNG ELIZA.[9]
Come, maid, upon yon mountain brow,
This day of rest I 'll give to you,
And clasp thy waist with many a vow,
My loved, my young Eliza.
'Tis not that cheek, that bosom bare,
That high arch'd eye, that long brown hair,
That fair form'd foot, thine angel air,—
But 'tis thy mind, Eliza.
Think not to charm me with thine eye,
Those smiling lips, that heaving sigh,
My heart 's charm'd with a nobler tie,—
It is thy mind, Eliza.
This heart, which every love could warm,
Which every pretty face could charm,
No more will beat the sweet alarm,
But to my young Eliza.
The peasant lad unyokes his car,
The star of even shines bright and far,
And lights me to the flood-torn scaur,
To meet my young Eliza.
There is the smile to please, where truth
And soft persuasion fills her mouth,
While warm with all the fire of youth,
She clasps me, young Eliza.
My heart's blood warms in stronger flow,
My cheeks are tinged with redder glow,
When sober matron, Evening slow,
Bids me to meet Eliza.
The bard can kindle his soul to flame,
The patriot hunts a deathless name;
Give me the peasant's humble fame,
And give me young Eliza.