Bloomington Herald

POETRY.

The following beautiful lines are taken from the St. Louis Reveille. They fall upon the heart like melancholy music--or like the mellowed rays of the departing sun, sadly and tenderly:--

"She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat, like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?"

Fanny was seventeen,
All full of beauty as a blooming rose,
Winning, bewitching, reigning o'er the beaux,
A fairy queen.

But all unconsciously
She scattered smiles, like kindling darts, around her
And all alike, the same sweet being found her,
Simple and free.

Love lives in all things bright;
And Fanny loved already, but she ne'er
Had whispered of her passion, save in prayer
To the still night.

A strange and silent boy
Gazed distantly on Fanny, and there came
Into her heart a fond and holy flame,
Breathing of joy.

But he was sad in youth,
Nor ever gave he token to the maid
Of passion, in like holiness repaid,
With heart and truth.

Time rolled, and Fanny grew
To share the sadness of the dreaming boy.
And joy in her sad dreaming--the alloy
Was pleasure too.

While still around her hung
A throng of glittering rivals, none were chosen;
And that one burning heart still held a frozen
And silent tongue.

Like the volcanic fire
That smothers 'neath a pyramid of snow
So in imprisoned torment seemed to glow
The youth's desire.

Time rolled, and came a day
When Fanny for the first time wept alone,
For he on whom her wealth of love was thrown,
Had roamed away.

Oh! he was poor: and proud,
And could not, would not mingle with the crowd
That daily to the feet of Fanny flew,
With tongues so loud.

Fanny had ever been
Of tender moulding, and within her eyes
Light flashed and faded as the sun-beam dies,
Gorgeous at e'en

Now grew upon her cheek
A most strange coldness and a stranger bloom,
That deepened still, while smaller spot of room
It seemed to seek.

Time rolled--and one by one
Fanny's rejected lovers dropped away,
And she was lonely, and no longer gay,
For he was gone!

Slowly the years rolled by.
And Fanny, like some silent floral thing
Fading too early in its native spring,
Bent down to die.

Still dreamingly she loved,
And muttered, voiceless, to each passing bird,
Asking what news was of the wanderer heard,
Or where he roved!

But the youth came no more;
And Fanny's history was early told;
Still rapidly she faded--time rolled--
And Fanny died!

When first her cheek was pale,
Some wondered, and some pitied, but none knew,
As cold consumption struck her bosom through,
Of this sad tale.

Time's scythe was still on wave,
Years after, when an old man bent and wept,
And sighed away his life, and soundly slept
On Fanny's grave!

PHAZMA.