University of Virginia Library

Yes! she was dear as living light,
As angel pure,—as morning bright;—
Her heart could love—Oh! Assad tell,
Awhile how faithfully! how well!—
'Tis even sweet, though years are past
Since Safie look'd and sigh'd her last;—
'Tis even sweet to think upon
The semblance of those beauties gone,—
To meditate most silently
Upon that form—that heart—that eye;—
And yet, amid the soft reflection,
At times a sadden'd recollection
Of Safie's sorrow darts its pain
Across the meditating brain,—
And makes it dread to think again.
Yet, loving still, the memory scorns
To shun the object that adorns;
But ponders still—and still admires,—
And loves the shade with living fires:
Till one sad thought, more dread than hate,
Glares on the mind—the maiden's fate!
Then memory staggers in its pain,
And cannot—cannot rise again.
Thus the light-loving insect dares
To court the flame that only glares
To lure its heedless fluttering,
Destroy its down, and scorch its wing:—
Thus does it love the fire that burns,
Though injured oft, it yet returns,—
And, seeking still the bright'ning hue,
It struggles back and flutters through,
The dazzling—desolating fire,
Till all its energies expire:—
Then—then the scorching heat appals,
The flame o'ercomes—the insect falls!