For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE KISS.—A la Moore.
| 'Tis a sweet boy! his eye is bright, Smooth is his cheek, and velvet soft, And his rosy, pulpy lips invite The kiss I give, in sooth, full oft. How glows my eye, and my heart, how wild It beats, as I kiss the lovely child! But there's a cause ye little ken, Why thus I love to kiss the boy! If thou wert absent, Julia, then, The kiss I love so soon would cloy, 'Twould not be half so oft as now, 'Twould not be half so sweet, I trow. I mark when thy lip presses his, And, ere the dewy moisture's flown, I steal it with another kiss, And dream I rip it from thy own! E'en such a kiss thrills through my heart, What bliss would thine own lips impart! |
P. H.
Written in the summer of 1827.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LOVE—MUTUAL BUT HOPELESS.
| O! the light of thine Eye is the beam that falls Through the narrow grate, on the Dungeon floor, To show the sad captive the strength of his walls, And remind him of joys he must taste no more. And that melting voice is Love's whispered breath, By night through that grated casement stealing, To rouse him from slumbers as heavy as death, To hopeless wishes, and useless feeling. But that voice is dear to his wasted heart, And dear to his eye is that lonely ray; Though they wound his bosom, he loves the smart, Nor wishes for death, but when these are away. |