University of Virginia Library

XI.

'Twas not his velvet verdure bright,
That rivalled green Idalia's bowers;
And not his starry spangled night,
That gave her heart such sweet delight,
When evening's freshening gale
Beguiled her soul with fragrant flowers,
As those along Thessalia's vale,
As bright as Coromandal's coast,
Or all that India prizes most;
And not for his pearly softness streaming
From silver brooklets brightly beaming—
For she shall live on earth no more,—
But more than Peru's gaudy lore!
When he besieged her father's fold,
The tender sire was growing old!
Who shed, alas! ten thousand tears.
To wash away his bitter cares!
To know that she was torn apart
To gratify an alien's heart!
He heard them read her last demise,
And saw them close her dying eyes!
And darken that fast-fading light
That gleamed upon his aged sight!
But there are joys like heaven below,
And many sweets we never know!
And there are thoughts that never die,
Though clouds obscure our brightest sky,
A joy that grief can never bind,
The dearest friend when others flee;
And though our hearts may break, the mind,
The only portion truly free—
Will never lead our sorrows blind.