Smile not, sweet girl, 'tis even so--
Cordelia, smile not unbelieving;
My words, though not so sweet, I know,
As thine, were never _so_ deceiving.
And if I _must_ be sworn to prove
That I have said sincerely, thereby,
I'd choose thy brow, so formed for love,
To be the book I'd kissing swear by.
Nay, look not angry thus, 'tis vain--
I value not thy frowns a feather--
'Tis not thy nature to retain
An unkind thought for hours together.
I envy not thy lover's joys,
Nor flattering smiles that so endear them;
Thy brittle chains caprice destroys;
Oh! who on earth would wish to wear them?
Yes! I could give thee many a name
Of those who've waked thy tender bosom;
A flame succeeding still to flame,
Yet thou wert e'er content to lose 'em.
Content to wound that bosom too,
That had for years, unchanged, ador'd thee;
Oh! when thou held'st a heart so true,
What joy could ranging thus afford thee?
I trust an angel's form thou'lt wear
E'er I ascend to yonder Heaven;
Or I a tale could give in there,
Would leave thee lost and unforgiven.
SONG.--WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE
ROUND THEE.