Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/235

 1830-40.] AMELIA B. WELBY. 219 Alas ! thou still wilt moan — Thou'rt like the heart that wastes itself in sighs, E'en when amid bewildering melodies, If parted from its own. THE OLD MAID. Why sits she thus in solitude ? her heart Seems melting in her eye's delicious blue, — And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart As if to let its heavy throbbings through ; In her dark eye a depth of softness swells. Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore ; And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. It is her thirtieth birthday ! with a sigh Her soul hath turned from youth's lux- uriant bowers. And her heart taken up the last sweet tie That measured out its links of golden hours ! She feels her inmost soul within her stir With thoughts too wild and passionate to speak ; Yet her full heart — its own interpreter — Translates itself in silence on her cheek. Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers. Once lightly sprang within her beaming track ; Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours ! And yet she does not wish to wander back ! No ! she but loves in loneliness to think On pleasures past, though never more to be : Hope links her to the future — but the link That binds her to the past, is memory ! From her lone path she never turns aside, Though passionate worshipers before her fall ; Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, She seems to soar and beam above them all! Not that her heart is cold ! emotions new And fresh as flowers, are with her heart- strings knit. And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through Her virgin soul, and softly rufile it. For she hath lived with heart and soul alive To all that makes life beautiful and fair; Sweet thouglits, like honey-bees, have made their hive. Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there ; Yet life is not to her what it hath been, — Her soul hath learned to look beyond its gloss — And now she hovers like a star between Her deeds of love — her Saviour on the Cross ! Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, Though she hath ofttimes drained its bitter cup. But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up ! She feels that in a lovelier, happier sphere, Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate. And all the joys it found so blissful here Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. Yet, sometimes o'er her trembling heart- strings thrill Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er en- joyed,— And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill W^ith wild and passionate thoughts, the craving void.