TO —— ——


Nay! ask not why that dark’ning gloom
    Sits heavy on my youthful brow—
Or why thus fled the healthful bloom,
    And left my cheek so sallow now— [Page 182]

Or why my harp I take no more,
    To wake again its slumb’ring string,
Or swell the note, so loved before,
    Whose simplest tone could solace bring.

There is a cause I dare not tell,
    Which, like a tempest rude, doth shake
My bosom’s chord—(no fancied spell)—
    Like reeds upon some curling lake.

There was a time when every joy,
    Like sunbeams playing o’er the wave,
Danced in my path—without alloy—
    And to each sweet new relish gave.

Then, ask no more—no lover’s thought
    Disturbs one fibre of my breast—
Ah, no! ’tis something dearer bought,
    Which ne’er, till life’s last pulse, can rest. [Page 183]

There is but one, and only one,
    Can read the torturing pang that’s cast
To wreck this heart—yet were——gone,
    How fondly should I breathe my last! [Page 184]