TO LIZZIE.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. M. N. M’DONALD.
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And all hearts do pray, “God love her!”
Ay, in certes, in good sooth,
We may all be sure He doth.
Miss Barrett.
There’s a charm about thee, Lizzie,
That I cannot well define,
And I sometimes think it lieth
In that soft blue eye of thine;
And yet, though pleasant is thine eye,
And beautiful thy lip—
As a rose-leaf bathed in honey dews,
A bee might love to sip—
Yet I think it is nor lip nor eye
Which binds me with its spell,
But a something dearer far than these,
Though undefinable.
When I meet thee, dearest Lizzie,
When I hear thy gentle tone;
When my hand is pressed so tenderly,
So warmly in thine own—
Why then I think it is thy voice,
Whose music, like a bird’s,
Can soothe me with the melody
Of sweetly spoken words:
Perchance the pressure of thy hand
This hidden charm may be—
Or the magic, Lizzie, of a sigh
That lures my heart to thee.
Perchance it is thy gentleness,
Perchance thy winning smile,
Which lurketh in such dimples
As might easily beguile;
Or perchance the music of thy laugh
Hath a bewildering flow—
Yet I cannot tell, my Lizzie,
If it be thy laugh or no;
For mirth as musical as thine
Hath met mine ear before,
But its memory faded from my heart
When once the strain was o’er.
Oh! for the wand of fairy
To dissolve the witching spell,
And teach me, dearest Lizzie,
What it is I love so well.
Thy simple truth and earnestness,
Perchance it may be this,
Or the gentle kindness breathing
In thy morn or evening kiss—
Thy care for others’ weal or wo,
Thy quickly springing tears—
Or, at times, a quiet thoughtfulness,
Unmeet for thy brief years.
Well, be it either look or tone,
Or smile, or soft caress,
I know not, Lizzie, yet I feel
I could not love thee less.
And something, haply, there may be,
“Like light within a vase,”
Which, from the soul-depths gleaming forth,
Flings o’er thee such a grace.
Perchance, the hidden charm I seek,
That words may not impart,
Is but the warm affections
Of a kind and loving heart.