Poems (Welby)/Lines to a Lady

by Amelia Welby

LINES—TO A LADY.

Lady! my mountain-pathway wends
 Where thou wilt never dwell;
And now to thee, and all my friends,
 I wave a last farewell!
Far in the dim and distant West
 On fair Kentucky's shore,
Still dwell the friends who love me best
 And one, whom I adore;
And there, where fairy footsteps rove,
 Entombed among the flowers
Still sleeps the friend I used to love
 In my young happy hours.

Ask you if she was young and fair?
 Her charms can ne'er be told;
The trembling lustre of her hair
 Was radiant, radiant gold.
Her mouth was like a rose-bud, wet
 In summer's softest showers;
Her eyes among the stars seemed set,
 Her feet among the flowers;
Her voice was like the softest flow
 Of some melodious breeze;
Yes, she was young and fair, but O!
 Her charms were more than these.

O, how I loved her! yet, methinks,
 Should friendship's glittering chain
Unite in bliss its broken links,
 Around my heart again,
Those soft and melting orbs of thine,
 That sparkle as they burn,
From this too tender heart of mine
 Would meet a soft return;
For, lady! till that first sweet even,
 You stole within my view,
My melting heart to her had given
 The softest throbs it drew.

O, could thy glowing fancy trace
 The form, my fancy sees—
The ringlets lifted from her face
 By every passing breeze;
The clearness of her ample brow,
 Her orbs of hazel hue
Soft melting on thee—even thou
 Would st love and mourn her too!
She lived as lives a peaceful dove;
 She died as blossoms die;
And now her spirit floats above,
 A seraph in the sky.

Farewell! I ask no vow of thine,
 I feel no foolish fears;
For if thy heart be formed, like mine,
 For softness and for tears,
Each whisper of the twilight breeze,
 Each murmur of the sea,
Will fill thy heart with thoughts like these—
 Will fill it full of me;
Each floating cloud, each trembling star,
 Will tell a tale of one,
Who dwells, from thee and thine afar,
 Beneath the setting sun.