Lyrical and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

So soft and nature's fondest smile,
Upon thy lip so brightly dwells,
That none can deem a heart of guile,
Within so fair a cov'ring swells;
So transient are the joys of earth,
That die, ere yet they spring to birth,
Thy varied fortune tells.

139

I met thee when thy cheek was bright,
Thy sun was like thy cheek,
A radiant gleam of early light,
That nought but bliss may speak;
And then I madly sunk a slave,
My heart, my soul, I freely gave,
So lost, debas'd and weak.

I envy not the brightest gem,
That gilds the monarch's crown,
I seek the bosoms diadem,
The happiness that's flown;
'Twas thine, too soon to know thy power,
And yet, to wanton break the flow'r
Ere yet its leaf had blown.

Who could have deem'd in early years,
When life and youth were bright,
That all thy joys should melt to tears,
Thy sunbeams set in night;
Such promise to a parent's eye,
To early love then wand'ring by—
Yet think of such a blight.

There's no reproach that I can speak,
I love thee, still, too well;
There is no sorrow on my cheek,
My heart would scorn to tell;
And if I weep—'tis thy decay,
That makes the tear drop find its way,
For me it never fell.

140

The joys so loved can never last,
Tho' now they seem divine,
And when thine early charms are past,
Those joys must cease to shine;
'Tis then the solace of the heart,
To know that guilt was ne'er its part,
That solace is not thine.

And thus in vice's dark abode,
Pale sorrow for thy guest,
With every fiend of guilt to goad,
The passions of thy breast,
That riot on thy ruby lip,
The joys that else, 'twere heaven to sip,
With those thou must detest.

The slave of Gorgon-guilt and gold,
The off'ring gift of crime:
And know a wretch's arms enfold,
More than thy sunny clime
Italia, ever did display,
Since fair Virginia sought the day,
That gave her name to time

That song, which breath'd in virtue's name,
Had roused each feeling heart,
Must now awake its notes to shame,
Whose minister thou art!
And yet, 'tis so divinely given,
It seems to bid the sweets of Heaven,
To Vice, a charm impart!

141

Go think on other years and weep,
Thro' guilt, thro' grief and shame,
Thy madness in this heart may sleep,
But not thine early name;
Howe'er the world may curse, condemn,
I will not, cannot join with them,
To stigmatize thy fame.

Farewell! I feel however crime,
Its veil may round thee cast,
Howe'er accused to fleeting time,
Each early vision past,
Come to this heart, when all are flown,
First scorn'd, last lov'd and ever lone,
I'll love thee to the last.