 | Metrical essays |  |
137
MARIE.
I
My gentle love—my only love—My drooping spirit pines for thee;
The gorgeous hall—the lighted bower—
Lute, dance, and song—have lost their power:
Thou only can'st this cloud remove,
My beautiful Marie.
II
Then haste thee dear, the kingly westA splendid gift flings o'er the sea;
And breathes the rose a sigh more sweet,
To hail the hour the parted meet;
O! come to this devoted breast,
My beautiful Marie.
138
III
'Tis bliss to meet—'tis sweet to partTo meet again by love's decree;
I cherish not a hope more fond,
Nor prize a paradise beyond
That hour which gives thee to my heart,
My beautiful Marie.
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