STANFORD LIBRARY

THE DESERTED BRIDE.

SUGGESTED BY A SCENE IN THE PLAY OF THE HUNCHBACK.

INSCRIBED TO JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

"LOVE me!-No-he never loved me !"

Else he'd sooner die than stain

One so fond as he has proved me

With the hollow world's disdain.

False one, go-my doom is spoken,
And the spell that bound me broken!

Wed him!-Never.-He has lost me !

Tears!-Well, let them flow!-His bride?

No. The struggle life may cost me !

But he'll find that I have pride!

Love is not an idle flower,

Blooms and dies the self-same hour.

B

Titles, lands, and broad dominion,

With himself to me he gave;

Stoop'd to earth his spirit's pinion,

And became my willing slave! Knelt and pray'd until he won me— Looks he coldly now upon me?

Ingrate-Never sure was maiden

Wronged so foul as I. With grief My true breast is overladen

Tears afford me no relief

Every nerve is strained and aching,

And my very

heart is breaking!

Love I him?-Thus scorned and slightedThrown, like worthless weed, apart— Hopes and feelings seared and blighted—

Love him?—Yes, with all my

With a passion superhuman

Constancy, "thy name is woman."

heart!

Love nor time nor mood can fashion

Love?-Idolatry's the word

To speak the broadest, deepest passion,

Ever woman's heart hath stirr'd!

Vain to still the mind's desires,

Which consume like hidden fires!

Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely,

Crush'd by grief's oppressive weight,

With a prayer for Clifford only,

I resign me to my fate.

Chains that bind the soul I've proven

Strong as they were iron-woven.

Deep the wo that fast is sending

From my cheek its healthful bloom;

Sad my thoughts as willows bending
O'er the borders of the tomb.

Without Clifford not a blessing

In the world is worth possessing.

Wealth!-a straw within the balance,

Opposed to love, 'twill strike the beam :

Kindred-friendship-beauty-talents?—
All to love as nothing seem;
Weigh love against all else together,
As solid gold against a feather.

Hope is flown-away disguises—

Naught but death relief can give

For the love he little prizes

Cannot cease and Julia live!

Soon my thread of life will sever-
Clifford, fare thee well-for ever!

WOMAN.

Aн, woman!-in this world of ours,

What boon can be compared to thee?—

How slow would drag life's weary hours,

Tho' man's proud brow were bound with flowers, And his the wealth of land and sea,

If destined to exist alone,

And ne'er call woman's heart his own!

My mother!-At that holy name

Within my bosom there's a gush
Of feeling which no time can tame,
A feeling, which for years of fame,

I would not, could not crush!
And sisters!-ye are dear as life,
But when I look upon my wife

My heart-blood gives a sudden rush,

And all

my

fond affections blend

In mother-sisters-wife and friend!