Bessy Bell.
When life looks drear and lonely, love,
And pleasant fancies flee,
Then will the Muses only, love,
Bestow a thought on me!
Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love,
To waken strives in vain;
To Joy's entrancing measure, love,
It ne'er can thrill again!--
Why mock me, Bessy Bell?
Oh, do not ask me ever, love,
For rapture-woven rhymes;
For vain is each endeavor, love,
To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes!
Yet still believe me, dearest love,
Though sad my song may be,
This heart still dotes sincerest, love,
And grateful turns to thee--
My once fond Bessy Bell!
Those eyes still rest upon me, love!
I feel their magic spell!
With that same look you won me, love,
Fair, gentle...