Many long years ago, I loved a youth,
Who seemed the soul of honor and of truth-
He charmed my heart with some unholy spell,
He was a serpent, whom I loved so well.
The blush of girlhood had just ting'd my cheek;
He knew me young-perchance he thought me weak.
'Tis said, he often boasted of his power,
To gather for his own each new-blown flower.
My simple language can not well describe
How first he stood before me in his pride;
His form was cast in beauty's manly mould;
His eyes shot fire, and his hair was gold.
Fain, fain would I describe to you his glance;
One look enough, to throw me in a trance;
His flute-like voice-ah! from my sleep I woke,
When on mine ear the cadence gently broke.
A month passed by: he lingered by my side,
Longed for the time, when I should be his bride;
Ah! bitter ending, of that month of years,
A life of sorrow, and a life of tears.
The scathing truth, like any lightning stroke,
Fell'd me to earth, and my poor heart was broke;
He, frightened, turned and left me, with my woe,
For, in my wrath, I sternly bade him go.
I've never loved again; for there, and then,
All my faith vanished in the truth of men.
Of that short month, 'tis seldom that I speak,
And to forget often shrouds
The storms which lurk within bright clouds?
The eye may beam with dazzling light,
And shed on all its glances bright,
Yet be unburdened of the tears,
That shone like diamonds there, for years.
The lips may breathe the thoughtless word,
And yet, too oft alas! unheard,
That word may mingle with a sigh
From reckless heart which prays to die.
I seek each joy-I fain would lave
My restless mind in Lethe's wave;
But memory is ever waking-
I smile, but oh, my heart is breaking.