"Mytah! my Mytah!"—languidly
Quivered the dark fringe of her eye;
Heaved her shut lips with tremulous motion
'Neath gentle winds as stirs the ocean.
In vain—her eyes no lustrous glances dart,
No tuneful notes her trembling lips impart;
But for those panting sobs for breath
You'd deem her frame resolved in death.
Such scene was not for words; nor now
Griefs dalliance did the time allow;
The shallow streamlet's scattered spray
Each pebble marks that checks its way;
The unruffled river's surface hides
The rocks o'er which its mightier current glides.
In silent grief the warriors bare
The unconscious object of their care;
Fearful to harm, with reckless touch.
That form already scathed too much.
Who ever knew of love the pain,
Till grief had bound him in its chain?
Oh! 'tis grief alone that proves
The heart that deeply, truly loves.
In the fresh dawn of life's young spring
When varied joys each moment wing;