"'tis an old tale and often told".
113
Beauty has left her—hope and joy have long
Fled from her heart, yet she is young, is young;
Has many years, as human tongues would tell,
Upon the face of this blank earth to dwell.
Looks she not sad? 'tis but a tale of old,
Told o'er and o'er, and ever to be told,
The hourly story of our every day,
Which when men hear, they sigh and turn away;
A tale too trite almost to find an ear,
A woe too common to deserve a tear.
She is the daughter of a distant land;—
Her kindred are far off;—her maiden hand,
Sought for by many, was obtained by one
Who owned a different birthland from her own.
But what reck'd she of that? as low she knelt
Breathing her marriage vows, her fond heart felt,
"For thee, I give up country, home, and friends;
Thy love for each, for all, shall make amends
And was she loved?—perishing by her side
The children of her bosom drooped and died;
The bitter life they drew from her cold breast
Flicker'd and failed; she laid them down to rest,
Two pale young blossoms in their early sleep,
And weeping said, "They have not lived to weep."
And weeps she yet? no, to her weary eyes
The bliss of tears, her frozen heart denies;
Fled from her heart, yet she is young, is young;
Has many years, as human tongues would tell,
Upon the face of this blank earth to dwell.
Looks she not sad? 'tis but a tale of old,
Told o'er and o'er, and ever to be told,
The hourly story of our every day,
Which when men hear, they sigh and turn away;
A tale too trite almost to find an ear,
A woe too common to deserve a tear.
She is the daughter of a distant land;—
Her kindred are far off;—her maiden hand,
Sought for by many, was obtained by one
Who owned a different birthland from her own.
But what reck'd she of that? as low she knelt
Breathing her marriage vows, her fond heart felt,
"For thee, I give up country, home, and friends;
Thy love for each, for all, shall make amends
And was she loved?—perishing by her side
The children of her bosom drooped and died;
The bitter life they drew from her cold breast
Flicker'd and failed; she laid them down to rest,
Two pale young blossoms in their early sleep,
And weeping said, "They have not lived to weep."
And weeps she yet? no, to her weary eyes
The bliss of tears, her frozen heart denies;
