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TO ELLEN.
And loveliest is her song that seems
To bid me welcome in my dreams,
Beside its winter hearth.
And must I deem her beckoning smile
But pleasant mockery, to beguile
Some lonely hour of care?
And will this Ellen prove to be
But like her namesake o’er the sea,
A being of the air?
Or shall I take the morning wing,
Armed with a parson and a ring,
Speed hill and dale along;
And, at her cottage-fire ere night,
Change into flutterings of delight,
Or what’s more likely, of affright,
The merry mockbird’s song?
