 | Parliamentary Letters, and Other Poems |  |
73
TO ELLEN.
Ellen! there was a time when I could tune
My harp to mirthful measures, and repeat
My songs of love with confidence, for soon
Your lip in singing them could make them sweet:
The voice of others might my accents greet
With praise, or with contempt; I gladly flew
From their reproach, a recompence to meet
In Ellen's smiles of kindness;—for I drew
The subject of my song, and its reward, from you.
My harp to mirthful measures, and repeat
My songs of love with confidence, for soon
Your lip in singing them could make them sweet:
The voice of others might my accents greet
With praise, or with contempt; I gladly flew
From their reproach, a recompence to meet
In Ellen's smiles of kindness;—for I drew
The subject of my song, and its reward, from you.
But now my harp is tuned to notes of woe,
In losing you it lost its lively tone;
And those who now the voice of praise bestow,
Can never praise or look—as you have done:
Their words may be the same, but there are none
Who breathe them with an accent half so dear;
They may look kindly too;—but you alone
Can glance forth kindest looks that banish fear,
From lovely laughing eyes that could not be severe.
In losing you it lost its lively tone;
And those who now the voice of praise bestow,
Can never praise or look—as you have done:
Their words may be the same, but there are none
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They may look kindly too;—but you alone
Can glance forth kindest looks that banish fear,
From lovely laughing eyes that could not be severe.
In fancy's vision I behold thee now,
In form and feature beautiful and bright;
With locks of darkest brown upon thy brow,
And eyes that beam with most expressive light:
Thy charms shall be remember'd when the sight
Has ceased to trace them; as the blaze of day
Lives unforgotten in the gloom of night:
The hope that sweetens love hath pass'd away,
But hopeless it exists, and never can decay.
In form and feature beautiful and bright;
With locks of darkest brown upon thy brow,
And eyes that beam with most expressive light:
Thy charms shall be remember'd when the sight
Has ceased to trace them; as the blaze of day
Lives unforgotten in the gloom of night:
The hope that sweetens love hath pass'd away,
But hopeless it exists, and never can decay.
How dull and cheerless is the garden walk!
How uninviting is the ball-room's blaze!
The gay lyburnum withers on its stalk,
The monthly rosebud unobserved decays,
For Ellen cannot wear them:—still I gaze
Upon the spot that you inhabited;
And trace the happiness of former days:
Sad is the memory of pleasures fled,
Like thinking of those friends who loved us, and are dead.
How uninviting is the ball-room's blaze!
The gay lyburnum withers on its stalk,
The monthly rosebud unobserved decays,
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Upon the spot that you inhabited;
And trace the happiness of former days:
Sad is the memory of pleasures fled,
Like thinking of those friends who loved us, and are dead.
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