University of Virginia Library

Her cheek, white as the snowy couch, was prest
Against her delicate hand; and her dark eye
Beamed with unearthly light and purity:
A hue like that within the rosebud's breast
Was on her lip, and thus she told the tale
Of sorrow which had made her cheek so pale.

It was in life's young morn; sixteen short springs
Had scarce yet bloomed for me; my soul was filled
With vague and wandering hopes; imaginings
Of some yet unknown bliss my bosom thrilled:
I dreamed of some one loving and beloved,
Though yet unseen, whose gentle whispers moved
Like music o'er my spirit, till my heart
Was all attuned to tenderness and love.
It needed but a master's hand to rove
Amid its chords, and teach them to impart,
A melody of magic power to bless,
Whose very echoes had been happiness.
Then, then 'twas I first saw him; the dark eye
Where dwelt the pride of intellect, the high
And snowy forehead, the lip full and bright,
The beaming smile like heaven's own sunny light—
These were the charms that met my gaze, yet O!
'Twas not alone the beauty of his brow
That won my heart; it was the mind that dwelt
Within his form before whose shrine I knelt.
Yet I knew not I loved him; from the time
When I first saw him, and love's passion-flower
Was budded in my young heart's sunny clime,
Until the sad and well remembered hour
That saw its full and perfect blossoming
In ripened beauty, I knew not how well
My tenderness had nursed the fragile thing.
Alas! his presence was a mighty spell
'Gainst which I could not strive: his look, his smile
Had ever power my sadness to beguile;
A glance from his all speaking eye at will
The troubled waves of painful thought could still.
He was unhappy, but I knew not why;
It was enough for me that the deep sigh
Oft heaved his bosom, and the darkening shade
Oft crost his brow, and bade his sweet smile fade.
Why lengthen out the tale? Months rolled away,
Yet I was happy, and each changing day
Brought me new pleasure; for I still could see
The being dearer than the world to me.
But now we soon must sever; I should be
Forgot, or only claim a passing thought,
Although his every look and tone were fraught
With sad remembrance for my after years
Of pain and sorrow, loneliness and tears.

Once—'twas in twilight's hour—we sat alone.
Each heart responding to a saddened tone.
I had been weeping bitterly, and now
One hand was prest against my throbbing brow,
The other lay in his;—I had nor power
Nor will to draw it thence: then bending o'er
He spoke in gentlest words, and, with a smile
Full of calm tenderness, he sought to 'guile
My mournful feelings, and I felt his arm
An instant closely clasped around my form;
I felt his lip upon my burning cheek—
The first, first kiss! I sprang from his embrace
To hide my tearful and, aye, happy face;
A moment past, and then, O! words were weak
My bosom's thrilling agony to speak:
Then first mine eyes were opened, and I knew
How dearly my heart held him, and then too
Came the conviction that I loved in vain;
I dare not dwell on this—too much of pain
Lies in the thought. On the next night we parted,
But stranger eyes were near, and cold ones stood
Around us, and I stilled the fearful flood
Of wild emotion; though half broken-hearted,
My voice ne'er faltered, and my clouded eye
Was tearless; if the deep-drawn, struggling sigh
Burst from my lip, 'twas all unheeded, while
My changeless cheek still wore a careless smile.

We parted ne'er to meet as we had met.
I knew too well he loved me not, and yet
'Twas sweet to hear the music of his voice,
And 'neath his smiles to feel my soul rejoice.
Time passed away, yet did my bosom cherish
Its fond idolatry; aye, love may perish
When nurst 'mid pleasures, but the love that springs
From sorrow, fed by hopelessness, still clings
To the young heart unchanged through every change;
No grief can chill it, and no time estrange;
It lives until it wastes the heart away;
And such was mine—why do I thus delay?

There was a young, fair girl, with dove-like, eyes,
And voice as gentle as the south wind's sighs;
And when long months had passed away, and I
Again beheld him, he was seated nigh
That gentle girl; methought his bright eye burned
More brightly when upon her face it turned.
'Twas said he sought her for his bride, and she
Returned no answering fondness. Could it be
That he to one who loved him not had given
The tenderness which would have been my heaven?
I never met him save when at her side,
And then my heart swelled high with woman's pride,
And hid my woman's love. At length I grew
Reckless of everything in life; a new
And fearful demon haunted all my hours,
And charged with venom all my path's few flowers.
And then—then—all grew darkness; ask me not
What cast that shadow o'er my wayward lot—
'Twas my own folly—madness; but no more
Memory extends a barren wildness there
And life would fail me ere I could tell o'er
My bosom's agony, my heart's despair.
But soon a sudden gleam of light dispelled
The darksome cloud, and then my proud heart swelled
With loftier feelings; I had sometimes strung
My humble lyre, and in low accents sung
Of love and sorrow; now they bade me sweep
Its chords with bolder hand, nor let them sleep
In silence; and some said that on my brow
Ere long the poet's garland might be twined.
From that hour I was changed; I sought not now
To die and leave no memory behind;
I bade my sleeping intellect unbind
Its listless pinions, and with lofty flight
Soar 'mid Imagination's realms of light;
I taught my lyre with Fancy's flame to glow,
And the soft notes in loftier strains to flow;
While gay ones marveled I could spend my days
In painful study. They knew not how strong
The impulse was; 'twas not mere love of praise
That bade me seek the highly gifted song.
Ah no! I hoped the time would come when he
Would listen to my melancholy lays:
I hoped that he, so loved though lost, would see,
Gladly, some future day, my humble name
Placed high upon the glorious lists of fame,
And that “the sweet surprise of sudden joy”
Would fill his generous heart, when he beheld
The reckless girl, whom he so long had held
To be the sport of levity, the toy
Of wayward feeling, teach her soaring soul
To spurn the fetters of the world's control;
And with the pride of genius bear away
Upon her woman's brow the deathless bay.
Were these hopes blighted?

Since I first saw him five long years have past,
And I am dying; yet 'tis not the hand
Of grief that o'er my brow this shade has cast:
I long have ceased to weep; an icy band
Seems drawn about my heart; I cannot weep,
But now upon my lone couch I could lie
As calmly as an infant turns to sleep
Upon his gentle mother's breast—and die.