LVIII
Rosina, this had never been
Except for you, my dearest queen!
Except for you the billowy sea
Would now be tossing under me.
The wind's wild voice my bosom thrill
And my glad heart bound wilder still.
Flying before the rapid gale,
Those wondrous southern Isles to hail,
Which wait for my companions free,
But thank your passion—not for me!
You know too well—and so do I,
Your naughty beauty's sovereignty,
Yet have I read these falcon eyes,
Have dived into their mysteries,
Have studied long their glance and feel
It is not love those eyes reveal.
They flash, they beam with lightning shine,
But not with such fond fire as mine;
The tender star fades faint and wan
Before Ambition's scorching sun.
So deem I now—and time will prove
If I have wronged Rosina's love.
November 11, 1844.
