Lynchburg Virginian

To Miss A** S*****.

Lady! a Sybil I will be.
And tell the fate that's doom'd for thee:
On this soft hand, now placed in mine
I'll trace for thee each secret line—
The joy, the happiness, the dark decree,
That's twine'd around thy destiny—
A smoother path, a brighter one,
Thus far, my eyes ne'er look'd upon.
But on this palm the lines descry
The clouds that hover o'er thy sky.
I see the line of hope—and bliss—
This one should be of love—and this—
But see, it ends! there's much to fear
From lines that cease abruptly here.
A dark-eyed youth will cross thy way,
And dim the brightness of thy day;
He'll try, with every winning art,
To gain thy young and guileless heart—
But wherefore start? why heave that sigh?
Hath he already met thine eye?
His honey'd accents, soft and sweet,
Hath caus'd thy gentle heart to beat?
Look not so pale—thou need'st not spurn
His love—thine own will meet return;
Such faithful love will never meet
Detestable and dark deceit.
Throw back the ringlets from thy brow,
'Tis beautiful by moonlight now;
But see—again I'll have to trace
The line of sorrow on thy face:
For in thine eye a spell is stealing,
That wakes the soul to love's revealing
'Tis strange, that I can gaze on such a sight,
And know a feeling other than delight!
'Tis strange, that I can gaze on aught so fair,
And feel upon my brow the shade of care!
But so it is; for thou wilt weep,
Thy bosom heave with sorrows deep—
No lasting though—for see, the sky
Is clearing—clouds are passing by,—
And this dark day will soon be o'er,
And thou shalt know its pangs no more.
Lady! the rest is hid from view,
Beyond that heavenly arch of blue!

HAIDEE