University of Virginia Library

The glory of sunset is filling the air,
It has kindled the wood with a radiance rare,
It gleams on the lake, and the swan's snowy plume
Has caught from its crimson a tint of rose-bloom;
And see! in the white marble vase—with a smile
That illumes all the sculpture—'tis resting a while.
Now the rose-wreathéd lattice lights up with its rays,
And now o'er the maiden it tenderly plays;
It seems like a spirit, gay, loving, and free,
It would woo her to wake from her fond reverié;
With sportive allurement it plays with her curl,
And kisses her blush and her bracelet of pearl;
But the blush is more warm than the sunbeam can be,
And the bracelet is clasp'd o'er a pulse throbbing wild,
And the maid has forgotten wave, blossom, and tree,
For Love's sunny morn o'er her young heart has smiled.

And vain is the song of her petted canary,
For Love's lightest cadence is sweeter by far,
And the skies and the flowers are unnoticed by Mary,
For Love's blush and smile are her rose and her star;
And, hark! from her lips, with a gush of wild feeling,
Her heart's hallow'd music is tenderly stealing:—

He tells me I am dear to him,
And in that precious vow
Is more than music—more than life—
I never lived till now!
This heart will break with too much joy—
Ah me! my maiden pride,
It strives in vain to hush my sighs,
To still my spirit's tide;
And I may watch his dear dark eyes,
Nor shrink to meet his gaze;
And I may joy to hear his step,
And list to all he says.
'Twill not be wrong now he has vow'd
He loves me best of all,
'Twill not be wrong to care for naught
But him in festive hall;
'Twill not be wrong to dream of him,
And love him night and day,
To smile on him when he is here
And bless him when away;
To sing the song he loves the best—
I learn'd it long ago,
But never dared to tell, because
I blush'd to love him so;
And I may think his blessed smile
The loveliest on the earth,
And glory in his noble mind
And in his manly worth;
And I—perhaps—I cannot tell—
Perhaps some day I'll dare
To lay my hand upon his brow—
To smooth his glossy hair!
But no! I dare not think of this,
For still the story ran
That she whose love is lightly won
Is lightly held by man.
Ah! will it not be joy enough
To know I have his heart;
To feel, e'en when he's far away,
Our souls can never part;
To hear his gentle praise or blame—
For e'en reproof of his
Seems dearer, sweeter far to me
Than others' flattery is;
To whisper to him all my thoughts,
To share his joy and wo,
To read, to walk, to pray with him—
To love, and tell him so.
I wonder what will Marion
And what will mother say?
They said I must not think of him,
That he was light and gay;
They said his fond devotion
Was but an idler's whim;
I knew, I knew he loved me,
And oh! I worshipp'd him.
He's not like any other
That I have ever seen;
He has a purer, truer smile,
A loftier, manlier mien;
His soft hair waves upon his brow
In clusters light and free,
His soul is in his hazel eyes
Whene'er they gaze on me;
And when he speaks and when he sings,
His soft melodious tone
With love's deep, sacred meaning thrills
From his heart to my own!
He does not stoop to flatter me—
I do not wish him to—
I should not think he loved so much
Did he as others do;
But once he laid his darling hand
Upon my drooping head,
Because he saw my soul was pain'd
By something he had said,—
Some warmer word to Marion
Than he had dared to me,—
And oh! that light and timid touch,
That no one else could see,
How eloquent of love it was!
It soothed my very soul,
My eyes were fill'd with happy tears
That nothing could control;
And from that moment well I knew
His full, warm heart was mine:
Ah! how shall I deserve that heart,
Deserve his truth divine?
I'll strive to be as good as he—
I'll check each error vain
That dims the holy mirror of
My soul with earthly stain;
And it shall be my prayer to God,
My Guardian and my Guide,
That he I love may have no ill
To blush for in his bride!