63
TO LILLA.
Dear Lilla, I am all alone,
With none to sooth—with none to cheer—
The hopes which once were mine are flown,
And sadly now I linger here.
With none to sooth—with none to cheer—
The hopes which once were mine are flown,
And sadly now I linger here.
The voice of gentle love is hushed,
And friendship's smiles are not for me,
My only hope has long been crushed,
And pleasure's face no more I see.
And friendship's smiles are not for me,
My only hope has long been crushed,
And pleasure's face no more I see.
All dark and gloomy is my way,
Yet I rejoice in other's glee,
And feel once more a kindling ray
Of gladness when I think on thee.
Yet I rejoice in other's glee,
And feel once more a kindling ray
Of gladness when I think on thee.
THE ERROR.
Our ancient sages strangely erred,
When souls to man alone they gave,
And vaunting impiously averred,
That woman's soul dies in the grave.
A sad mistake all must allow,—
But men to make mistakes are prone,—
For sense and reason prove it now,
Our sex have souls—'tis their's have none.
When souls to man alone they gave,
And vaunting impiously averred,
That woman's soul dies in the grave.
A sad mistake all must allow,—
But men to make mistakes are prone,—
For sense and reason prove it now,
Our sex have souls—'tis their's have none.
