TAMERLANE
O, she was worthy of all love!
Love—as in infancy was mine—
'Twas such as angel minds above
Might envy; her young heart the shrine
On which my every hope and thought
Were incense—then a goodly gift,
For they were childish and upright—
Pure as her young example taught:
Why did I leave it, and, adrift.
Trust to the fire within, for light?
We grew in age—and love—together—
Roaming the forest, and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather—
And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd.
And she would mark the opening skies,
I saw no Heaven—but in her eyes.
Young Love's first lesson is the heart:
For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles.
When, from our little cares apart.
And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I'd throw me on her throbbing breast.
And pour my spirit out in tears—
There was no need to speak the rest—
No need to quiet any fears
Of her—who ask'd no reason why,
But turn'd on me her quiet eye!
Yet more than worthy of the love
My spirit struggled with, and strove.
When, on the mountain peak, alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone—
