Frederic S. Hill

THE MAIDEN TO HER LOVER.

BEFORE the winning breeze could steal

Morn’s sprinkled pearl-drops from this rose,

I cull’d it, that it might reveal

The tale my lips dare not disclose.

Its leaves of virgin tenderness,

Where I have press’d a kiss for thee,—

Its blush of maiden bashfulness,—

Both tell of love and secrecy.

For they have bound my flowing curls,

And told me, that ere eve’s mild hour,

They ’ll deck me with their gems and pearls,

To shine the queen of Irad’s bower.

But I will toil and tempest brave,

And roam the desert at thy side,

And kiss thy feet, and live thy slave,

Rather than be proud Irad’s bride.

THE LOVER’S REPLY.

THOU bright one!—let thy lover calm

The breast that heaves such throbbing sighs,

And still thy quivering lips, whose balm

Is like the breath of Paradise.

For, by thy token-flower, that brought

The seal thy crimson lips impress’d,—

By these thin leaves, with sweetness fraught,

Like shrines where spikenard blossoms rest;—

By thy pure eyes, whose diamond glow

Steals through their lashes timidly;

By thy dark locks, that loosely flow,

In glossy curls, luxuriantly;—

And by that bosom’s snowy light,

Which ’neath the veil swells half-conceal’d—

As oft through clouds of fleecy white

A heaven of beauty is reveal’d;—

By these, and by my blade, I swear,

That little blue-vein’d foot of thine

Shall never tread the soft couch, where

The silken tents of Irad shine.

But thou thy Kosru’s bride shalt be,

And seek, with him, rich Cashmir’s vale;

There, thou shalt wander, wild and free

As the young fawn, o’er hill and dale.

There, like the notes of Eden’s bowers,

Thy strains shall listless time beguile;

There I will gaily pass the hours,

In the clear sunshine of thy smile.