If violets, when fresh with dew,
Could amaranthine be,
Their soothing, deep, and glowing hue
Would justly speak for me.
Or to some plant with tendrils fine,
With blossoms sweet and gay,
This office I would now assign;
But flowers will all decay!
A bird would suit my purpose more,
With filial heart endued;
But, ere their little life is o'er,
Birds lose their gratitude!
No emblem of the love I feel
Appears within my view;
Less ardent, or less pure the zeal,
Less tender, or less true!
All I can do is to avow,
My services are thine;
And that my spirit still shall bow,
Before my Valentine.
VI.
THE LOVER'S APOLOGY.
I look'd into her eyes,
And saw something divine,
For there, like summer lightning,
Swift coruscations shine.
Still flashing, and still changing,
Attemper'd soft and bright,
Through each expression ranging,
From pity to delight.
From high or zealous feeling,
From arch, excursive grace,
From all with which a lovely mind
Endows the human face.
Perhaps a new and careless eye
May not those beauties see,
And wonder to behold the power
Belinda has with me.
The spell which holds this captive soul
She never would possess,
Were not her varying features rul'd
By sparkling playfulness,
But when with aimless, trackless skill
Is twin'd a mazy chain,
In the warm foldings of a heart,
Perforce it must remain.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25