Page:Literary Souvenir 1827.pdf/3



' with strange feelings that I gaze Upon this brow of thine, Magnificent as if the mind Herself had carved her shrine: An altar unto which was given The flowers of earth, the light of heaven.

At the first glance, that eye is proud, But, if I read aright, A fountain of sweet tears lies hid Beneath its flashing light: Tenderness, like a gushing rill Subdued, represt, but flowing still.

That lip is curled with sneering smile,— Alas! what doth it prove?— Not in the warfare of the world Are lessons taught of love. So much is there hard to be borne, The heart must either break or scorn.