Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/195

 1830-40.] THOMAS H. SHREVE. 179 And thought can lure where shadows dwell, And vveave a dark and bitter spell With an all-blighting art. 'Tis vain to think of what has been, Or dream of what may be — To linger o'er a sunny scene, Which beauty robes in smiling sheen, When thought is miseiy. THE USED UP. The jig is up : I have been flung Sky-high — and worse than that: The girl whose praises I have sung, With pen, with pencil, and with tongue. Said "No"— and I felt flat. Now, I will neither rave nor rant. Nor my hard fate deplore : Why should a fellow look aslant If one girl says she won't, or can't. While there's so many more ? I strove my best — it wouldn't do ! I told her she'd regret — She'd ruin my heart — and chances, too, As girls don't like those fellows, who Their walking papers get. In truth I loved her very well, And thought that she loved me ! The reason why, I cannot tell, But, when I wooed this pretty belle — 'Twas a mistake in me. She's dark of eye — and her sweet smile, Like some of which I've read. Is false — for she, with softest guile, Lured me 'mong rocks, near Love's bright isle, And then — she cut me dead. My vanity was wounded sore — And that I hate the worst : You see a haughty look I wore. And thought she could not but adore. Of all men, me the first. Well, thank the fates, once more I'm free ; At every shrine I'll bow ; And if, agau3, a girl cheat me, Exceeding sharp I guess she'll be — I've cut my eye-teeth now. Oh ! like the bumblebee, I'll rove, Just when and where I please — Inhaling sweets from every grove. Humming around each flower I love, And dancing in each breeze. TO MY STEED. Onward thou dashest, gallant steed. Away from all the haunts of men! My heart from care is wholly freed. And revels in bright dreams again. Men call thee beast ! Away, away. Thou art to me a chosen friend — Press on to where the bright rills play. And vigor to thy sinews lend ! Ha ! steed, thou hear'st ; and now thy bound Is graceful as a billow's sweep ; The eagle's soaring Aving hath found No freedom greater than thy leap. And now we climb the oak-crowned hill ; The valley smiles like one I've loved ; And breezes bathe my brow, and fill My heart with kindness, heaven-ap- proved.