THE BELLE.
BY MARY L. LAWSON.
She stands before the mirror—she is fair,
And soft the light within her beaming eyes,
But unshed tears are slowly gathering there,
Like passing clouds that float o'er summer skies;
Her cheek is wan, as blanched by thoughts of pain,
And on her snowy brow a shadow sleeps:
Are such surpassing gifts bestowed in vain?—
The pale, sad beauty turns aside and weeps!
Long, long in anguish flows the burning tide—
Dark storms of feeling sweep across her breast—
In loneliness there needs no mask of pride—
To nerve the soul, and veil the heart's unrest,
Amid the crowd her glances brightly beam,
Her smiles with undimmed lustre sweetly shine:
The haunting visions of life's fevered dream
The cold and careless seek not to divine.
Night after night unheeded glides away
'Mid mirth and music, flattery's whispered tone,
Her dreary penance—ever to be gay,
Yet longing, oh! how oft—to be alone;
But when all other hearts seek needful rest,
And heavy sleep the saddest eyelids close,
Her dreams are those the wretched only know,
As memory o'er her soul its shadow's throw.
Friends that had shared her girlhood's happier day,
And forms now mingling with the dust arise,
The early loved recalled with pensive tears,
Though once in pride half scorned and lightly prized;
Fair pictured scenes long vanished from her sight,
Soft tones of songs and voices loved of yore.
And words of tenderness and looks of light,
And fresh young hopes that bloom for her no more.
But this one hour has crowned in deep despair
The many sorrows of life's galling chain,
Yet mid those sighs that rend her aching soul
The heart's wild struggle is not felt in vain,
For she has turned to Him whose smile can cheer
The darkened mind and hopes lost light reveal,
And learns to feel 'mid trembling doubt and fear—
That HE whose power can wound is strong to heal.
While loftier thoughts to nobler purpose given
Than those long wasted amid fashion's glare,
And deep resolves the future shall be fraught
With holy deeds, her earnest musings share—
Though in the dance her step no more may glide,
The glittering circle miss its chosen queen,
Around the vacant place a closing tide
Will leave no record where her form was seen.