TO
MISS M— G—.
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That
languid look and mournful air
Bespeak a heart depressed
by sorrow—
And throbs ebb forth, as if despair
Had left for thee no shining
morrow.
Then, tell me—has false hope deceived,
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And
proved a tyrant so unfeeling?
Or, has some youth—with vows believed—
Betrayed that heart, whence
sighs are stealing? [Page 185]
If so—may all the direful pangs
A wounded conscience can
awaken,
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His
bosom tear, with venom’d fangs,
Till by the world and life
forsaken.
That pallid cheek appears to me,
In all its dress of deepest
anguish,
The very type of misery,
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Where
youth and hope together languish.
But, ah! the morning calm, I fear,
Of love is past—nor
joy’s emotion
Remains to smooth thy pathway here,
Or light the flame of thy
devotion.
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How desolate that heart must be,
Still doomed—no gleam
of bliss remaining—
T’endure the curse of memory,
Past miseries alone retaining!
[Page 185]
Then, let me weep and sigh with thee, |
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And
look such words as can’t be spoken—
Come, fly dear girl—oh! fly to me—
I’ll sooth that heart
too sadly broken. [Page
186]
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