The adopted daughter :: :: University of Virginia Library

A modest little violet once rear'd her head on high
To catch the music of the breeze, as it went humming by;
But Zephyr's heart was full of joy, he sped in haste along,
And saw not that sweet violet—absorb'd in his own song,
The slighted beauty bow'd her head, and heav'd a plaintive sigh
And as she bow'd a trembling tear stole from her glist'ning eye
He lov'd me once, she sighing said, and can he break his vow?
Ah! he has found some fairer one, to share his pleasures now!
And I am left alone, alas! alone alas to die,
With none to kiss my burning cheek or fan me with a sigh,
O cruel Zephyr, didst thou know I only live for thee,
And only smile when thou art nigh, thou couldst not faithless be,
Or is it true, as I have heard, thou lovest but an hour,
And then art off, to woo and win some seeming fairer flower?
Adieu to love, adieu to life! my heart, my heart will break!
O Zephyr take me to thy arms, I'm dying for thy sake!
She wept aloud—her plaintive tone flew o'er the blossom'd plain,
And Zephyr heard his true love's voice, and turn'd him back again
“Is that my lov'd one's voice?” he cried. “Is that the sound of woe?”
Fly quick my wings and bear me on! why do you move so slow?
Impatient, and with trembling heart he gained the well known spot
And gazed upon the drooping fair—He raised her—She was not!
He wildly clasped her fragile form and kissed her pallid cheek,
And craved a word, a look or smile, but ah, she could not speak?

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He gazed around with frantic stare, he saw a Blue-bell by,
And bade her tell him when, and how his true-love came to die;
The haughty creature curl'd her lip and answer'd with a sneer,
“You, broke my sister's trusting heart; she thought your love sincere;
But when she found that you were false, and pass'd her proudly by.
Her cup of bliss was broken then—what could she do, but die?”
Poor Zephyr toss'd his arms on high and wildly tore his hair,
And smote his breast in agony—then yielded to despair.
And ever since that fatal day in which his true-love died,
He's wander'd frantie o'er the earth, and rav'd and wept, and sigh'd:
He sings the songs she used to love; he sings them o'er again
Until his heart is fill'd with grief, and fury turns his brain,
And then he rushes madly forth and scatters fear around,
And seizes on the giant oaks and hurls them to the ground.
He often broods above the deep and murmurs out his woe,
And kisses every weeping wave, that lifts its head of snow.
Then like a spoil'd and wayward child, he flies in wrath again.
And wildly rocks the sailor's bark, and lashes all the main.
He loves to roam through shady groves where dancing streams rejoice,
For in the music of their fall, he thinks he hears her voice.
He wildly howls through all the North, and sighs on Southern shores,
Until o'ercome, he sleeps, and dreams of her he still adores.
'Tis often thus with human love! Some tender hearted fair
Too quickly doubts her dear one's truth—too quickly courts despair;
Some little word falls on her ear, some slight—perchance a jest,
It enfers to her inmost soul and robs her of her rest,
And when he turns to woo again, he finds a stricken flower;
A blossom crushed unthinkingly—She withers from that hour,
And never more can lift her head and sweetly smile on all,
For disappointment chills the soul, and fills the heart with gall
And thus together both are slain, or if they live, 'tis worse,
For doubting those we once have lov'd, life soon becomes a curse.

Brooklyn, February 1852.