Richmond Enquirer

Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns
One certain feeling, one fond regret;
Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns
Are all I've found in its bright waves yet.

Nay, tell me not, dear, that from thy form or soul
That balm of the physician,
The spirit's (thine) were
Still float on the surface, and hallow my
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal
Our blissful dream of the heart from thee;
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal,
The bowl but brightens my love for thee.

They tell us that love in his fairy bower
Hid not the blush of the rose from view;
He uttered the rose in its saucy hour,
And mantled the other with blushes too.

Such drank the maid
That drank other Noads
It wilted by the rainbow, decline and fade
While those which the tile
Of ruby blood dyed
All blushed into beauty like thee, sweet maid!

Then, fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal
Our blissful dream of the heart from thee;
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal,
The bowl but brightens my love for thee.