THE FALSE ONE.
SONG XVI.
1
Dear I lov'd the bright-lock'd dame,
As light of heaven to my e'e;
Little I reck'd her rosie lips,
With vows of falseness mov'd to me.
And oh! I deem'd her heaving breast,
Was stamp'd with a celestial crest,
That virtue was the motto press'd
By the cold hand of chastity;
But, oh! on gross and base alloy,
Impress'd was heaven's most goodly die.
2
Clasp'd in mine arms, devoutly she
Repos'd upon my breast her cheek;
And in a rapture-rousing strain,
Of love and virtue would she speak.
And oh! impureness of the mind,
Could in her speech no shelter find,
Nor he who left his damsel kind,
A fairer maiden's love to seek:
But, oh! those thoughts of glorious strain,
Lived in a dwelling gross and vain.
3
Six weary months I've number'd by,
Since she fell from her track so fair;
And though an outcast from my heart,
Her once-loved image linger's there.
But like a silver fount parch'd dry,
Is love when hatred fills the eye,
A rough unseemly track doth lie,
Where pour'd the current sweet and clear:
Yet still one vagrant drop or two,
Come peering their chrystal sluices thro'.
