Republican Herald

And lips like rubies, dipt in dew;
Eve's own the eve of sunny blue,
And forms like alabaster, breathing;
And locks in sunny radiance wreathing,
And felt that beauty never stole
A lasting fetter on the soul:
As lightning swift, and free as wind.
The mind alone can chain the mind.
It is not in the witchery
Of rosy lip or azure eye,
Of cheeks abashed, and whispered sighs.
Nor in the deeper sacrifice
Light as the summer meteor's glance,
It startles from the tempting trance;
Waves its bright pinion, and is gone.
Or won—as quickly lost as won—
Where then to find the spell that flings
The fetter on those wavering wings?
'Tis in the native truth of heart.
That scorns the thought of female art.
That, keenly thrilled by joy or pain
Disdains the thrill to hide or feign;
And anxious but one heart to move.
Toils not for triumph, but for love.
On his wild plume this fetter twine—
The wanderer's thine, and ever thine.