The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35

Extract from a Lady's Album.

And must I stain this virgin leaf,
So fair, so pure, and so like thee!
It grieves me—but it is thy will;
And that is always law to me.

'Tis said that those who feel the most
Can best describe love's potent spell—
That what the heart most deeply feels,
The tongue most eloquently tells.

Alas! it is an erring rule—
It is not true! it is not true!
Strong Passion's voice was ever low;
And lower yet as Passion grew.

When fiercest winds o'er ocean sweep,
The sea is quell'd—no billows roll
Their foaming crests upon the deep.
Thus Passion treads the very soul
Low in the dust, and bids it weep
In silent anguish—and 'tis still
As the aw'd slave who bows before a despot's will.

Then think not I can tell my love
In well-set phrase, with fitting smiles;
He loves not—Oh! believe it true—
Who knows and practices such wiles.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.