THE DYING MAIDEN'S PARDON TO HER FAITHLESS LOVER.
FROM THE FRENCH.
(For the Mirror.)
If death's keen anguish thou would'st charm
Ere speeds his fatal dart,
Come, place thine hand—while yet 'tis warm,
Upon my breaking heart.
And though remorse—thou may'st not feel
When its last throb is o'er,
Thou'lt say—"that heart which lov'd so well,