The Unforgotten One.
Description fails, language is far too weak,
To tell the beauties of my early love;
Ah! she was fairer than the rose, and meek,
And fond, and gentle as the turtle dove.
The golden tinge of sunset in the sky
Appeared not brighter than her flowing hair;
The violet's hue was in her beaming eye,
And all her gentle soul seem'd speaking there.
It beam'd so softly through its long dark fringe,
Whene'er I cross'd her path, or met by chance,
O'er her young cheek would spread a deeper tinge,
And then what thoughts spoke in her hurried glance?
I knew she lov'd me, and a nameless joy
Would thrill, quick as electric fluid's dart,
My soul was mute in the deep ecstacy
That took possession of my throbbing heart.
Ah! never, never shall my soul forget
The hour in which my love I first confessed:
"Twas eve, when in a fragrant bower we met,
When all was still—e'en zephyrs lay at rest;
'Twas there we talked of love, of truth, and joy,
The blush still deep'ning on her youthful cheek;
There, in her timid, half-averted eye,
I read more tenderness than worlds can speak.
But, ah! she was too good, and kind, and dear—
Too gentle and belov'd for this cold earth;
Not long she grac'd our troubl'd pathway here;
Alas for beauty, and alas for worth!
She died in loveliness, like some fair flower
Pluck'd in its beauty from its parent stem
We lost her in her sweetest, brightest hour,
Like some fair pearl from a diadem.
I knew it was the hand of death had flung
The snowy paleness o'er her youthful brow
And yet to hope my trembling spirit clung,
Like autumn's last leaf to the wither'd bough.
But long her mem'ry shall be treasur'd where
Nought of this world shall ever mix alloy,
Nor time, nor change, nor years of bliss or care,
Shall her bright image from my heart destroy!
To tell the beauties of my early love;
Ah! she was fairer than the rose, and meek,
And fond, and gentle as the turtle dove.
The golden tinge of sunset in the sky
Appeared not brighter than her flowing hair;
The violet's hue was in her beaming eye,
And all her gentle soul seem'd speaking there.
It beam'd so softly through its long dark fringe,
Whene'er I cross'd her path, or met by chance,
O'er her young cheek would spread a deeper tinge,
And then what thoughts spoke in her hurried glance?
I knew she lov'd me, and a nameless joy
Would thrill, quick as electric fluid's dart,
My soul was mute in the deep ecstacy
That took possession of my throbbing heart.
Ah! never, never shall my soul forget
The hour in which my love I first confessed:
"Twas eve, when in a fragrant bower we met,
When all was still—e'en zephyrs lay at rest;
'Twas there we talked of love, of truth, and joy,
The blush still deep'ning on her youthful cheek;
There, in her timid, half-averted eye,
I read more tenderness than worlds can speak.
But, ah! she was too good, and kind, and dear—
Too gentle and belov'd for this cold earth;
Not long she grac'd our troubl'd pathway here;
Alas for beauty, and alas for worth!
She died in loveliness, like some fair flower
Pluck'd in its beauty from its parent stem
We lost her in her sweetest, brightest hour,
Like some fair pearl from a diadem.
I knew it was the hand of death had flung
The snowy paleness o'er her youthful brow
And yet to hope my trembling spirit clung,
Like autumn's last leaf to the wither'd bough.
But long her mem'ry shall be treasur'd where
Nought of this world shall ever mix alloy,
Nor time, nor change, nor years of bliss or care,
Shall her bright image from my heart destroy!