University of Virginia Library

It is not now, as once, when joy appear'd,
To greet her presence and her smiling eye,
Was lit with many a beam that flitted by
Becoming, when more transient, more endear'd.
Not now to her is morning dress'd in smiles,
Nor in the ev'ning does the moon display
New beauties, as she wanders thro' the isles
Of fleecy clouds, that minister to day,
And hail her presence: her bosom does not beat
To the gay revelry of tuneful feet,
Join'd in the saraband. or lively trill
That ushers in the light and swift Quadrille;
Her bosom does not now impulsive spring
To the gay wires, nor does pleasure waft
Her heart in gladness high on music's wing,
As now it rises proud, now swells in tumults soft.
I saw her once, in early youth, when joy
Felt all of variation, but alloy.
When rapture led the way on frolic feet,
To newer changes, and each change more sweet.
No cloud had chas'd the iv'ry of her brow,
(Ah! how unlike the form before me now!)
No tear had quench'd the sparkle of that eye,
Which seem'd to own far less of earth than sky;
A deep transcendence over all, I ween,
That life before had cherish'd, or earth seen—
Hers was the face where deep intelligence,
Not that which merely summons words of sense,
But the wild mystery of other spheres
Stole on our hearts, tho' little met our ears!
Expressive silence! where the pause alone
Was equal to the tongue's most magic tone;
Where all of wild or grand, commingling met,
In one deep voice we cannot soon forget;
Yet, but remember as a dream, where nought
Broke the proud net-work of the soul of thought!
A transient glance, a moments look was given,
And I was torn from all of love or heaven.

But still did memory long in after years,
Pursue the form (that came alone in tears)
With an unwearied diligence, that knew
Nor obstacle, nor pause that could arrest
The power that forced it to a stranger breast:
It still burn'd more intense as feeling grew;
'Till, as the sun's long streaks began to fly
More indistinctly o'er the western sky;
And night began in pall to clothe the brow,
Of the tall mountain that I gaze on now;
Whilst in the east appeared the yellow moon,
That gilds love's morning and attends its noon;
I turn'd my steed beneath a cliff's rude head,
And wound my way along a current's bed,
Long since forsaken by its kindred stream;
And there appear'd the village, where the beam
That mingled with my visions 'till it shone
My bosom's firmament and sun, alone—
First met my gaze; I sought the friendly door,
That erst received my form, when wand'ring poor,
I gain'd the shelter, which at once bereft
My heart of all the solace it had left:
But sad presage! the hall deserted, stands
The dark memento of some ruder hands;
The rooms deserted, echoed not the tread
Of airy footsteps—lonely as the dead;
My heart sunk in me—where was she, the one,
The light eyed maiden—can she too be gone—
The form of yesterday—to the fancied view,
The poet's vision—his inspirer too!
The rose-lipped lovely one—the smiling eye,
The speaking glance—oh! whither gone and why?
A moment, and a film o'erspread my gaze!
'Tis she, but not the form of by-past years;
Alas! the moonbeam's fitful light betrays
A furrow'd cheek, an eye long used to tears.
No longer eloquent—that eye is dim—
She wedded, some informing meddler said,
To one, who (just reward!) long since was dead,
Her eye could never beam, when fix'd on him!
It was returning to the uncaring mine,
The diamond that could lay there, but not shine
Unconscious of its value, he had spurn'd
Away, the richest light that ever burn'd.