Lynchburg Virginian

POETICAL.

THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE.

I've often wept at woman's heartless necromancy—you
know in life how much of light and beauty is made
dim by disappointments of the heart.—Byron.

She flung her glossy tresses back,
And innocently smiled,
So like a being formed for love—
So beautiful and wild:
Free from the trace of burning thought,
Or passion or of crime,
Or early hopes long buried
In the ocean tide of Time.

'Twas strange that I should look upon
Such beauty with a sigh,
Or dream that any thing might dim
The lustre of her eye:
But I had proved life's empty dreams,
And found man's fondest trust,
Like sparkling streams when brightest,
Turn to nothingness and dust.

She passed before me—and I wept—
A being bright and fair.
As lovely as the images
Of blessed visions are:
I wept to think how soon that form
Might fade, and droop, and fall.
Those bounding footsteps cease to move
Along the lighted hall.

I thought how many forms like hers
Had mingled in the dance.
And dreamed of high and holy things
In being's fond romance:
How many such all silently
In death's cold keeping slept—
I thought how worse than vain is life.
And turned away and wept

She sat beside me, and my heart
Was gladdened with her tones.
There's music in the gentle voice
Of fondly cherished ones:
I listened, and my soul was moved
To high impassioned thought:
I spoke of truth and constancy.
Or love that cleaveth more.

Alas! but the memory of
That moment heaves me yet—
Which found me fondly kneeling
To a beautiful Coquette
That creatures, so like angels formed.
For the long page and deep
Should cast away life's beauty thus'
I think of it and weep