 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
148
LOVE RETURNED.
One arm around her silent harp was flung;
Her brow was bending o'er it, and its chords
Were twined with her dark tresses. Wrapt in thought,
She stirless sat; and when the soft breeze fanned
The ringlets from her cheeks, a glow was there,
Like the rich hue that decks the Florence rose,
While the sweet smile that hovered round her lip
Was bright as April sunlight; in her eye
Was hope with sadness blended, as if joy
Had been so long a stranger to her heart
That now she scarce dared welcome it.
Her brow was bending o'er it, and its chords
Were twined with her dark tresses. Wrapt in thought,
She stirless sat; and when the soft breeze fanned
The ringlets from her cheeks, a glow was there,
Like the rich hue that decks the Florence rose,
While the sweet smile that hovered round her lip
Was bright as April sunlight; in her eye
Was hope with sadness blended, as if joy
Had been so long a stranger to her heart
That now she scarce dared welcome it.
She spoke;
And the low accents of her voice were sweet,
Yet melancholy as the moaning wave:—
And the low accents of her voice were sweet,
Yet melancholy as the moaning wave:—
“‘Love must win love’—O, were not these the words,
The blessed words he uttered? While my heart
With life and feeling throbs, I must remember
How like the freshening dews of heaven they came,
Waking new hopes, renewing faded dreams,
And thrilling all my frame with sudden joy.”
The blessed words he uttered? While my heart
With life and feeling throbs, I must remember
How like the freshening dews of heaven they came,
Waking new hopes, renewing faded dreams,
And thrilling all my frame with sudden joy.”
She paused; and her light fingers touched the harp,
Calling out low and plaintive symphonies;
Then, as with bolder touch she swept the strings,
Her voice broke forth responsive, and she sung:—
Calling out low and plaintive symphonies;
Then, as with bolder touch she swept the strings,
Her voice broke forth responsive, and she sung:—
149
“Love must win love:” believest thou aught of this?
O! then no more
My heart o'er early faded dreams of bliss,
Its wail shall pour.
O! then no more
My heart o'er early faded dreams of bliss,
Its wail shall pour.
Give me this hope, though only from afar
It sheds its light,
And like yon dewy, melancholy star,
With tears is bright.
It sheds its light,
And like yon dewy, melancholy star,
With tears is bright.
Let me but hope a heart with fondness fraught,
That could not sin
Against its worshipped idol e'en in thought,
Thy love may win.
That could not sin
Against its worshipped idol e'en in thought,
Thy love may win.
Let me but hope the changeless love of years,
The tender care
That fain would die to save thine eye from tears,
Thy heart may share.
The tender care
That fain would die to save thine eye from tears,
Thy heart may share.
Or let me dream, at least, that when no more,
My voice shall meet
The ear that listens only to think o'er
Tones far more sweet—
My voice shall meet
The ear that listens only to think o'er
Tones far more sweet—
When never more my weary steps of pain
Around thee move,
When loosed forever is thy heavy chain—
“Love will win love.”
Around thee move,
When loosed forever is thy heavy chain—
“Love will win love.”
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |