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II

Simms in THE ALBUM (1826)

The newly-discovered volume reveals biographical information about Simms which is of the first importance. For here he published a series of four letters from the West[15] that documents a heretofore unrecorded trip to the frontier in early 1826, thus requiring certain revisions of our notions about this primary formative influence on his career. In 1933, Hampton Jarrell and William Stanley Hoole explored in three articles the significance of the frontier travels as a shaping force on Simms's writing.[16] As a result of their work, they were able to prove two Southwestern journeys; whereas Trent (fifty years before them) had shown positively only one. These two trips were made in 1824-1825 and in 1831. The Album's second volume now proves a third journey of 1826, thus Simms's second jaunt West, this time carefully detailed as to route.

His excursion can be reconstructed from the letters as follows. Simms sailed from Charleston 12 January 1826, then passed the Florida Keys within fifty miles and in sight of the Cuban shore "at 54° North," before stopping on land for the first time eighteen days later at the Balize, "a resort for Pilots and Fishermen" some ninety-five or a hundred miles from New Orleans. He then sailed up the mouth of the Mississippi to within fifteen miles of New Orleans, where he took "a kind of chariot" into the city. There, on the day of his arrival, he wrote his first letter of 3 February 1826. From New Orleans he travelled "by water" to Mobile, crossing Lake Pontchartrain and Spanish River. He arrived at Mobile some time before 13 February 1826, from where he wrote his second letter. He then "took passage on board a steam boat . . . up the Tombigbee River" to Columbus, Mississippi, where on 1 March 1826, he wrote Letter III. After having remained at Columbus for "a week or more," he proceeded "over the Tombigbee" by "flat" to the Choctaw Nation and proceeded by horse through swamp and prairie to Pearl River. Although he did not give his specific destination, Simms no doubt made his journey, as he had the year before, in order to visit his father who


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lived at Georgeville, Holmes County, Mississippi, some sixty miles north of Jackson. By 12 April 1826, he had completed "my excursion to Pearl River" and was back in Columbus, Mississippi, where he wrote Letter IV. After his stay in Columbus, he planned to "start directly on to Charleston," which likely meant that he travelled downstream from Columbus to Mobile and thence home.[17] The date he returned to Charleston is unknown, but the entire Western journey must have been of no less than four months' duration.

In his four letters, he gave impressions of customs, social life, women, the theatre, the court room,[18] steamboat travel, and flora, descriptions of squatters, Indians, the Choctaw Nation, and candid opinions about New Orleans, Mobile, Columbus, the backwoods between and the frontier beyond. These early accounts would be significant enough in themselves even were the author unknown, but the value to our understanding of Simms's life and career is rather staggering. First of all, they are his earliest surviving letters. The six volume Letters of William Gilmore Simms begins with an entry dated 16 July 1830, over four years later than The Album epistles. Considering the scarcity of primary information on the young author, who was but nineteen years old at the time, the material gleaned from these sources is of paramount importance. The letters reveal their writer to be a strongly opinionated young gentleman who has carefully viewed his world and made up his mind about certain things. He has the highest scorn for materialistic values and finds the mere money-seeker dull and base. He himself has already chosen to devote his energies to higher goals. Nature is obviously a first love. Her beauties are a great solace throughout his travels, which are at


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times tedious and strenuous. For wild nature, he reserves his only unqualified praise. The Mississippi River, he calls "majestic" and a "proud and beautiful sight." The Southwestern prairies are "not only singular, but stupendous." In short, the unspoiled landscape inspires and awes him.

The works of man, however, are a terrible disappointment, and he describes his dissatisfaction in no uncertain terms. New Orleans is "nothing more" than a "mere place of business" where money is the great measure, and money-making the chief drive of life. Gambling, and every other form of money-oriented vice, is carried on "to a most enormous extent." At the New Exchange, "at one view, will present an auctioneer straining his lungs to the utmost; a bar keeper circulating through the medium of a tobacco burnt atmosphere, his spirits; a couple of foggy CANAILLE . . . diabolically intent on the result of a layer of domino; and in several other sections of the room, cards, dice, billiards, and as many other modes by which money can be won or lost, as ---- himself could invent." He is finally "disgusted" by the city—its vice, filth, and shoddiness, all faults stemming from mistaken values. Even the American Theatre leaves him "completely disgusted." And as for the Masquerade Ball he attends, it is but a "ridiculously odd assemblage," where a "scamp of the first water, wore the fool's cap and bells, ill assorted with Minerva's underclothes, etc." His summation: New Orleans is "a vile reservoir of infamy and baseness," a raw boom town revolving around the marketplace.

Of Mobile, he is only slightly less critical, her central focus likewise being the making of wealth. Its theatre is better than the American in the former city, but there are frequent interruptions by backwoodsmen who had never seen such things before. The pitiful tribal outcasts from the Choctaw Nation line her streets, sadly a "public nuisance and offending forever the eye of delicacy." Of the Mobile Bar, its pleadings are "dull, heavy and unimportant." He sets out at last for the wilderness "perfectly fatigued with Mobile."

These works portray the world realistically as he found it and without idealization, but always measured against an implied high ideal. The author is finally, then, bored by these specific "places of business" and in general with a frontier society based on the philosophy of getting rich quick. The last he will simply not tolerate; and as for himself, after visiting his father, he would return home to Charleston. By 1826, the young Simms had apparently reached the conclusion, which he was to voice frequently throughout his life, that the impulse to westward migration was largely ignoble, stemming from the basic vice of material greed. He thus found the frontier a deleterious force on society, encouraging


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rootlessness, the breaking of ties, and the undermining of those established centers necessary to the furthering of the noble ideals of high culture which he already espoused. These letters thus point to what must have been a central conflict within the young writer in 1826: whether to reestablish familial ties in a West he abjured as a destructive force, or to remain without family in his home community which encouraged the higher cultural values he had come most to admire. At the age of nineteen, Simms was obviously a high-toned young patrician who valued honor, dignity, propriety, and artistic endeavor, and deemed materialistic values at best boring and at worst "disgusting." When encouraged by his father to relocate to the West and make his fortune, he would, therefore, judging from the philosophy expressed in these letters, understandably, say no. That the young man was doggedly devoted to principles, intolerant, and headstrong, these letters also provide considerable proof, thus demonstrating the necessary ability to make his decision stick.

These epistles also contribute, beyond revelations about the life and personality of the man, key insights into a time when Simms's literary career was being born. As an example of their great significance in this sphere, one has only to consider the last section of Letter IV. From Columbus, Mississippi, 12 April 1826, in writing of incidents of travel through the Choctaw Nation, Simms presented this comic sketch:

One of our companions was altogether an oddity. A Frenchman by birth; [he] had been much of a traveller—but was altogether unacquainted with our pristine neighbors [the Choctaws]—and the sight of one of them appearing suddenly before him in the road, was sufficient to elicit from him

"Diable! vat is dat?"

"Why that," said a rigid featured moralist, who had joined us at the same time, and was apparently disposed to make as much of the Frenchman's ignorance as possible, "that is an alligator, Monseure." This was evidently an overstretch, and Monsieur cut his eyes sharply on the respondent but said nothing. "Is it not singular," said my former companion, "how those Indian horses will endure fatigue. A journey that one of our noblest steeds would sink under totally nerveless, will rather induce so their vigor, and the long gallop of that little tackey will be continued without interruption during the whole day and for weeks."

"Yes," said our new comer, whom I now observed, pretended somewhat to the character of a wit, "Yes, they are certainly a singularly fine animal; they do not hesitate to ascend rocks perfectly perpendicular, and the Indians frequently send them up the hickory trees for the purpose of gathering the nuts from them; and it is not uncommon where no rocks can be found for the owners to dislodge their hoops to crack them on." We smiled—and the Frenchman betrayed his wonder by the wonted—"Diable." By this time, the Indian, whom we soon discovered to be a Chief, by his scarlet cloak, cocked hat, plume and nose ring, and the other various concomitants to manly display, approached us; and after the usual salutation, "How do?" our jovial companion desired to know how much ahead the traveller was who had passed yesterday. "Ek-sho," (gone away!)

"You one very fine hors, Monsieur," observed the little Frenchman, rather cautiously to the rover. "Yaow! chickamafena," (yes, very fine, good or great.) "Your


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chick-a," said the inquirer to himself half mutteringly, yet afraid to press the question to the Chief that presented itself to his mind. "He means," said the little man's tormentor, "that he should be good when fed on chickens." The Indian showed some dissent to this explanation and it was explained to the satisfaction of all. Whiskey, the staple of the country, and almost the only liquor drank, was produced from the saddle bags of one of the party, and after passing it round, we parted with our savage brother mutually satisfied.

Here, then, in rough and fledgling form, is Simms's first known use of backwoods humor, and published, incidentally, nearly a decade before the issuing of A. B. Longstreet's Georgia Scenes (1835), commonly accepted as the seminal work of the genre. The vigorous little sketch which comes to dominate the Pearl River epistle shows enthusiasm for this material. Though he could never favor Western migration, he was quick to realize the lively drama it presented. It is as if Simms, while writing this sketch for a Charleston audience, opened his eyes wide for the first time to rich sources which would lead very shortly to realistic treatments of the Border in five novels,[19] and finally to such excellent backwoods humor stories as "Sharp Snaffles" and "Bald-Head Bill Bauldy." It is interesting to note also that no such backwoods rendering had been published in The Album in 1825 after his first trip west.

The introduction of the awe-inspiring Choctaw Chief, the description of his clothing and ornament, and the rendering of his speech all likewise demonstrate a knowledge of materials Simms was perhaps to find useful in his treatments of the Indian in such works as "Indian Sketch," the story of a Choctaw which was Simms's first fictional treatment of the Indian (1828), and The Yemassee, his Indian novel of 1835. It is not surprising that Simms's treatment of Indian character would be called "probably the most balanced" in American literature.[20] For records such as these letters prove that he knew the material first hand and was interested in recording the facts. One of the most significant bits of information to be gleaned from this letter of 12 April is Simms's statement that he was keeping a good "note book" of what he was seeing and hearing. Was he not, then, intending to make literary use of these backwoods experiences? And was not, then, one purpose of his travels, to gather such native American materials for future use?

The material in this same note book may have been either in hand or in mind when he came to write "Sharp Snaffles."[21] While Simms drew most heavily for this story from lore that he recorded in an 1847 journal


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of hunting trips in the Carolina mountains,[22] The Album sketch and "Sharp Snaffles" have some interesting similarities. First, "Yaou" is the name given Sharp Snaffles by the members of the hunting camp. One hunter explains that "in the Choctaw dialect" the word "simply means 'yes,'" as it is related in The Album sketch. "Snaffles," he remarks, "had rambled considerably among the Choctaws, and picked up a variety of their words." So, evidently, had Mr. Simms. And Sharp, renowned as the best teller of tall yarns in his parts, bears some resemblance to the local "wit" of the sketch, whose great pleasure comes in trying to create belief in outlandish statements delivered in deadpan manner—the whole purpose of the hunter's "lying camp" as recorded in "Sharp Snaffles." Finally, The Album sketch ends by the group "liquoring," an action also important to the framing device of the short story.

Further, this sketch is likewise significant as the first known example of what would become a separate story type in the Southern backwoods humor genre—that of the dandy greenhorn being gulled by the backwoodsman. The greenhorn was frequently to be a Yankee city-slicker, or only a city-slicker come to the country; but often enough too he would be a European, and most frequently a Frenchman, as he is here in the Simms sketch.

In addition to "Letters from the West," Simms contributed by post to the eight extant issues of Volume II, sixteen poems certain to be by him and another two which may be his. Three of these are again biographically significant. "Song" describes the voyager-narrator's impressions of sea travel around the Florida Keys[23] within view of the Cuban shore at sunset. The poem was written on the spot in January 1826 and sent back to Charleston with the first Western letter. In the letter itself, he noted that "Song" was composed during a calm at sea and "without much regard to meter." Of such poetic endeavor, he wrote in Letter I during a moment of weariness and depression: "I have grown quite indifferent to such efforts, and will in future endeavor to forget that I was ever capable of them. They have been more a pain than a pleasure; and in other views have been an injury." No matter, later issues of The Album continued to contain his verse sent from the West in undiminished quantity. "I Do Not Ask Thy Tear" is dated Columbus, Miss., 10 April 1826; and another "Song" is said to be written while on the Tombeckbee River in Alabama.[24]


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Moreover, of the sixteen proved poems, ten are heretofore unrecorded,[25] and the other six are the original publications of later versions. The newly discovered poems are marked with an asterisk and are reprinted in the Appendix.[26] Through these issues of Volume II, therefore, knowledge of the early poetic career (his first proved poem had appeared only less than two years before), has been substantially increased. The following listing, based on the format of John Guilds's article on The Album, presents Simms's contributions to the newly-discovered issues of Volume II:[27]

    I. Poetry

  • Almirez * "By Almirez" (Not mine the joys) 28 Jan. 1826, p. 31.
  • * "Invocation" (Come, o'er the waste) 4 Feb. 1826, p. 39.
  • * "By Almirez" (Go, shed the lustre) 4 Mar. 1826, p. 71.
  • "By Almirez" (Thou cam'st when Pleasure) 11 Mar. 1826, p. 79.
  • "Oh! Let Me Dream" 1 Apr. 1826, pp. 103-104.
  • * "The Blighted Trees" (It was but late) 20 May 1826, p. 160.
  • M. E. S. * [Untitled] (Come! Let thy hair my fingers twine) 4 Feb. 1826, pp. 39-40.
  • * "Dithyrambic Song" (Fill up the bowl) 11 Mar. 1826, p. 79.
  • "To --- ---" (I come to thee) 11 Mar. 1826, p. 79.
  • "The Outlaw's Farewell" (When the hopes) 29 Apr. 1826, p. 135.
  • Wilton * "To --- ---" (The dreams that in my slumbers) 28 Jan. 1826, p. 31.
  • * "To Spain" (Go weep, go weep) 1 Apr. 1826, p. 104.
  • * "Song" (Wake, wake, the song!) 29 Apr. 1826, p. 135.
  • S. * "Song Written on the Tombeckbee River" (Long, long, dearest maiden) 24 June 1826, p. 200.
  • S. G. W. "I Do Not Ask Thy Tear" 20 May 1826, p. 160.
  • W. G. S. "Song" (Calm o'er the wave) 4 Mar. 1826, p. 71.

    II. Prose

  • W. G. S. "Letters from the West. No. I. New Orleans, Feb. 3." 4 Mar. 1826, pp. 68-69.
  • "Letters from the West. No. II. Mobile, Feb. 13." 11 Mar. 1826, pp. 76-77.

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  • "Letters from the West. No. III. Columbus, March 1, 1826." 1 Apr. 1826, pp. 100-101.
  • "Letters from the West. No. IV. Columbus, April 12, 1826." 20 May 1826, pp. 157-158.

    III. Other Contributions Possibly by Simms

  • Myself "Nothing." 28 Jan. 1826, pp. 27-29.
  • William "To Mary" (When first I met thee) 1 Apr. 1826, p. 104.
  • Unsigned "Matrimony" (Cries Nell to Tom) 4 Feb. 1826, p. 40.
  • Review of miscellaneous poems selected from the current U. S. Literary Gazette, 24 June 1826, pp. 195-196.
  • Review of Sir Walter Scott's Woodstock, 24 June 1826, pp. 196-199.

Appendix

BY ALMIREZ.
Not mine the joys of gilded balls,
Their sweets are vain to me;
Sweeter the breath of music falls,
Amid the mountains' airy halls,
For there my form is free;
No fetter'd duties bind my soul,
I spurn their slavish—cold controul,
For Oh! I love to be
A fellow with the desart rock,
That meets unmoved the tempest's shock.
Soul of my soul! for there I meet
Objects, like thee in ruin laid:
Young Fancy, whom I hold most dear,
Leads on my wayward footsteps there,
To rocks in gloom arrayed;
And tells me that I now am free—
These tempest-riven sites for me,
And no one else were made;
These rocks—this firmament divine,
In all their solitude, are mine.
And then I hold myself alone;
No slavish thought can dare
Intrude upon my desart throne,
Or bid me for a moment own,
A lord or rival there;
But every dream, like morning light,
Be pure, fantastical and bright,
Dress'd in such gaudy glare,
That rime shall pause and feel his power,
Subdued even by the desart flower.
TO --- ---
The dreams that in my slumbers glow,
Dear maid, thou well mayst deem,

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Derive their source from hopes that now,
Within my bosom teem.
And how can dreams do ought than give,
Imagined joys with thee,
Since waking, all that bids me live,
Are dreams, I hope may be.
In dreaming joys, my nights are spent;
And hopes, dear Love, divide
The hours that gaudy day has sent,
Like sunbeams on the tide.
And these are joys—but ah! too vain,
Since hopes are apt to fly;
And dreams we know will sometimes pain,
When known, reality.
Then would'st thou chasten doubt, and quell
The grief that yet may rise,
Each dream that gives a charm, compel
Thy heart to realize;
And give the spell that ever seems,
To call forth joys ideal;
Let all my early hopes be dreams
But let those dreams be real.
INVOCATION.
By Almirez.
Come, o'er the waste of water's blue,
The Memory of other years;
Come, and recall my infant view—
My early joys and tears.
Shadows of former times—again
With icy lip, and sunken eye,
And pallid brow, and rattling brain,
Ye wander sadly by.
I'll wake a harp of former tone,
Again a being shall ye dream;
And all that once ye deem'd your own,
Shall either be—or seem.
Sorrows—the shades of former years,
Joys—that ye thought could never fly.
Each in the visioned scene appears,
To pain or please the eye.
And whilst ye wander o'er the hours,
That wizard fancy waken yet;
Beware! ye rove in other bowers—
The present, ye have never met.
The present! lo! his form is here,
There's sadness in his very smile;
A mingled tint of hope and fear,
That cannot grief beguile:
A frozen image that seems fix'd,
In death's embrace with smiling lips,
Whilst light and darkness there is mix'd,
Like Phoebus in a brief eclipse.

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[Untitled]
Come! Let thy hair my fingers twine,
That rosy lip be laid on mine,
That eye so soft, so purely bright,
Upon me rest its azure light.
Those arms of snow, ah could I dare,
I'd have thee softly throw them there,
And ah! so kind; so gentle too,
Thou'st done what I would have thee do.
Those lips—forgive me if I press,
They were but formed such hours to bless;
Come let those arms around me twine,
That throbbing heart be laid on mine.
That head, reclined upon my breast,
Thus—thus I'll lull thee Love, to rest,
And reigning o'er my bosom's throne,
Now Rosa, thou art all my own.
Thy brow upon my heart is laid,
Thy lips are mine, my own dear maid,
My daring hand hath wreathed thy hair—
Live Rosa, live forever there.
BY ALMIREZ.
Go, shed the lustre of thine eyes,
On other lands, remote from this;
And ere their starry brillance dies,
Perchance they yet may lead to bliss,
But here the charm thou would'st impart,
Lacks lustre, for it lacks the heart.
And other dreams may wake thy truth,
And other beauties lure to love;
Then may'st thou whilst in prime of
youth,
Learn those wild passions to reprove;
Which cannot lure, and will not die,
But pain in deep intensity.
Another land—another hope,
May with thy former feelings strive,
And, whilst they each for being cope,
Still whisper to us that they live;
But oh! be mine—the genial sky,
The love, the heart that will not fly.
DITHYRAMBIC SONG.
Fill up the bowl, for why should sorrow,
Dim a cup so purely bright;
Fill up, and think not on the morrow,
Come sun or cloud—be blest to night.

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Now the ruby Juices flowing,
Wit is casting pleasures o'er,
Love's arrows set the Goblets glowing,
Die away and are no more.
Then in wine forget the hour,
Love could charm thy soul away,
Passion with resistless power,
Bids the force of love decay.
Cupid angry, lost his glances,
Peep'd within the door and frownd;
Wit turn'd round, checked his advances;
Loves arrow blunted met the ground.
Fill up the bowl, Time's wings are moving,
Fill up the bowl arrest his flight;
O, that we could such joys improving,
Change the day and make it night.
TO SPAIN.
Go weep, go weep—yet not the tear,
That from each patriot bosom springs,
To Freedom's shrine is half so dear—
As those of tyrant kings.
'Tis well, 'tis well—ye yet can weep,
If stings of shame ye feel,
Go burst the torpid charms of sleep,
And rush to meet the steel.
It is not tears, it is not tears,
Tho' deep the fountains flow,
That now can wake a nations fears—
And rouse them to the blow.
But 'tis the heart, that dares to do,
And 'tis the arm that does the deed,
One soul of fire, one falchion true,
And ye might yet be freed.
SONG.
Wake, wake, the song! the tyrant care
Shall fly e're we shall leave the bowl,
Whilst peace and joy shall hover near
In all the unity of soul.
Wake, wake, the song.
Tho' distant regions here unite,
Like brothers of one land they join,
The cup is sparkling ruby bright,
And freedom's nectar is divine.
Wake, wake, the song, &c.

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Here shall no foreign despot wave,
His sceptre o'er the free born mind,
Or, may the foe who such can brave,
The vengeance of a Free-man find.
Wake, wake, the song, &c.
Wake, wake, the song, in freedom's land,
A Freeman's song, must needs be dear,
Unclogg'd by slavery's iron band—
Undim'd by slavery's burning tear.
Wake, wake, the song, &c.
Here, torn from every genial tie,
The exile seeks no more to roam,
He meets a smile in freedom's eye—
A solace in a Freeman's home.
Wake, wake, the song, &c.
THE BLIGHTED TREES.
By Almirez.
It was but late I sported young,
With youth and friendship 'neath these trees,
The birds around me sweetly sung,
In strains that youthful hearts can please.
So green and fresh they bloomed around,
That youthful fancy kissed each flower—
Alas! tho' bright—they quickly found,
The general gift of nature's dower.
When friends and boyhood pass'd away,
I shed the burning tear of grief,
But I have felt my heart decay,
More, when I've seen your wither'd leaf.
For ye recall those early hours,
When joy had lent to youth its ray;
When with some school mate plucking flow'rs,
We've wil'd unheeded, Time away.
Ah! little in those dreams of bliss,
My bosom thought on future scenes;
'Twas pass'd away in happiness,
Devising youthful frolic schemes.
And 'neath these yellow drooping trees,
Then bright with life and deep with green,
I've lain in youthful hours at ease,
Panting, fatigued upon the plain.
Each sound, each murmur then seem'd sweet,
Some nightingale the boughs beneath;
But now those sounds, those murmurs beat,
Just like the tempest storms of death.
Sweet trees, tho' faded still so dear,
Some short time and I too shall fade;
Like ye—my heart's already sear,
By sorrows frost, like ye decay'd.

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SONG
Written on the Tombeckbee River.
Long, long, dearest maiden my footsteps
may wander,
And find not a resting place ere they return;
Yet still o'er the past shall my musing heart
ponder,
And bury each feeling in memory's urn.
The stream I now float on, the dark trees
o'er shading,
Still recall to my bosom those moments of bliss;
When o'er my rapt vision the guileless
young maiden,
Shed her first ray, 'twas pensive 'twas lovely
as this.
Oh! deem not the youth, all those feelings
despising,
Forgetful can dream of another than thee;
His bosom but blest when thine own it is
prizing,
Only longs for the moment when thine it
shall see.
Thro' the copse dimly seen the pale
moonbeam is streaming,
O'er the water it mirrors its tremulous glow;
And thus thro' my heart thy deep influence
is gleaming,
With a smile that, tho' pensive, still kindles
its flow.
Could I task but the winds, and obedience
awaken,
In aught that opposes my flight love to thee;
How soon would I prove that thou wert
not forsaken,
Nor forgot for a moment by a lover like me.
They tell me, and let them, it never can kindle,
One doubt of the truth that thy young
heart hath sworn;
That in absence, the influence of feeling must
dwindle,
And love be forgotten before his return.
But they know not who say it, how tender
thy bosom,
Nor the truth that dictates it and rules with
its sway;
But judge that in others the original blossom,
As that in their breast will as quickly decay.