Literary Gazette, 6th March, 1824, Pages 154-155
ORIGINAL POETRY.
METRICAL TALES.
Tale II.— THE POISONED ARROW.
Love lives on Hope and Memory.
'Tis an old tale of love and truth
We used to read, I scarce know when,
And still it brings back to my heart
All that my heart was full of then.
We read it one blue summer night,
Half by lamp, half by moonlight,—
An English summer night, thrice fair,
For that its loveliness is so rare;
Just three or four nights at the full of the moon,
When the flower-filled air is breathing of June;
Three or four nights that rejoice the year
With a dream of light from another sphere.
I remember a pink woodbine
That hung round the lattice its coral twine;
I remember the vine, whose green
Shone in the ray like silver sheen;
And how through the leaves a sweet air came,
For beside grew a rose with a crimson flame
Lighting its life, as love lived on its spring;
But all are departed or withering.
I remember a fond arm placed,
Zone of my heart, around my waist;
I remember a dark eye that shone,
And turned to me, as the tale went on,
To look its so gentle sympathies,
And ask, Are we not as fond as these?
I remember an honey tone,—
But that clasp and that look and that voice are gone!
Why think I now of them? Oh, woman's heart
Treasures the memories that depart
