I have tried to cease this pining, Rouse my withering pride,—but vain, By some skilful, deep designing, Turn my love to cold disdain; But such efforts make thee dearer To her whom love's spell hath bound, Draw the fatal chord still nearer Round the heart thy falsehoods wound. THE LOVERS. THEY met, and looked into each other's eyes; A bright and sunny world, where her pure soul Silent, and cold, and withering, until Their hearts were dead, and they went to the grave, Their misery to each other unrevealed. TO ERNEST. YES, they have said the fatal word Crushed every hope that life endeared, They bid me on another smile, They bid me breathe another's name, But oh! they know not that the while 'Tis fuel added to the flame. To thee I'll ever constant prove, For ever they may part us here, It will but render thee more dear They cannot tear my heart from thee! With roses they may wreathe my brow, But when a few brief days are past, Ah! then they'll watch my silent woe, And speak kind words-but speak in vain, And try with smiles, and mirth, and song To bring back cheerfulness again, And mitigate their cruel wrong. But hot tears stealing from mine eye, TO ERNEST. I KNOW it is a vain wild dream, The love for thee I've cherished; I would, as die the tender leaves, That it with hope had perished; But oh! love dieth not with hope, I do not ask thee e'er to take I only tell thee of its flame, I do not ask thee to forego The charms that I have not, Proud wealth, and beauty's witchery, To share my lonely lot. |