Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies;
But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimmed too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest--the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.
THE RING.
TO .... ....
No--Lady! Lady! keep the ring:
Oh! think, how many a future year,
Of placid smile and downy wing,
May sleep within its holy sphere.
Do not disturb their tranquil dream,
Though love hath ne'er the mystery warmed;
Yet heaven will shed a soothing beam,
To bless the bond itself hath formed.
But then, that eye, that burning eye,--
Oh! it doth ask, with witching power,
If heaven can ever bless the tie
Where love inwreaths no genial flower?
Away, away, bewildering look,
Or all the boast of virtue's o'er;
Go--hie thee to the sage's book,
And learn from him to feel no more.
I cannot warn thee: every touch,
That brings my pulses close to thine,
Tells me I want thy aid as much--
Even more, alas, than thou dost mine.
Yet, stay,--one hope, one effort yet--
A moment turn those eyes a way,
And let me, if I can, forget
The light that leads my soul astray.
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