The Huron Chief, and Other Poems

by Adam Kidd




That languid look and mournful air
    Bespeak a heart depressed by sorrow—
And throbs ebb forth, as if despair
    Had left for thee no shining morrow.

Then, tell me—has false hope deceived,
    And proved a tyrant so unfeeling?
Or, has some youth—with vows believed—
    Betrayed that heart, whence sighs are stealing? [Page 185]

If so—may all the direful pangs
    A wounded conscience can awaken,
His bosom tear, with venom’d fangs,
    Till by the world and life forsaken.

That pallid cheek appears to me,
    In all its dress of deepest anguish,
The very type of misery,
    Where youth and hope together languish.

But, ah! the morning calm, I fear,
    Of love is past—nor joy’s emotion
Remains to smooth thy pathway here,
    Or light the flame of thy devotion.

How desolate that heart must be,
    Still doomed—no gleam of bliss remaining—
T’endure the curse of memory,
    Past miseries alone retaining! [Page 185]

Then, let me weep and sigh with thee,
    And look such words as can’t be spoken—
Come, fly dear girl—oh! fly to me—
    I’ll sooth that heart too sadly broken.
[Page 186]