BRING thee, love, a golden chain,
I bring thee too a flowery wreath ;
The gold shall never wear a stain,
The flowrets long shall sweetly breathe! Come, tell me which the tie shall be To bind thy gentle heart to me.
The Chain is of a splendid thread,
Stol'n from Minerva's yellow hair,
Just when the setting sun had shed
The sober beam of evening there.
The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove,
With brilliant tears of bliss among it,
And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love,
To heal his lip when bees have stung it!
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,
To bind thy gentle heart to me.
I read that ready eye,
Which answers when the tongue is loath, Thou lik'st the form of either tie,
And hold'st thy playful hands for both. Ah!-if there were not something wrong,
The world would see them blended oft; The Chain would make the Wreath so strong!
The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! Then might the gold, the flow'rets be Sweet fetters for my love and me!
But, FANNY, So unblest they twine,
That (heaven alone can tell the reason)
When mingled thus they cease to shine,
Or shine but for a transient season!
Whether the Chain may press too much,
Or that the Wreath is slightly braided,
Let but the gold the flow'rets touch,
And all their glow, their tints are faded! Sweet FANNY, what would Rapture do, When all her blooms had lost their grace? Might she not steal a rose or two,
From other Wreaths to fill their place?—
Oh! better to be always free,
Than thus to bind my love to me.
The timid girl now hung her head,
And, as she turn'd an upward glance,
I saw a doubt its twilight spread
Along her brow's divine expanse.
Just then, the garland's dearest rose
Gave one of its seducing sighs—
Oh! who can ask how FANNY chose,
That ever look'd in FANNY's eyes!
“The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be
"The tie to bind my soul to thee!"
I NE'ER on that lip for a minute have gaz'd,
But a thousand temptations beset me,
And I've thought, as the dear little rubies you rais'd,
How delicious 'twould be—if you'd let me!
Then be not so angry for what I have done,
Nor say that you've sworn to forget me;
They were buds of temptation too pouting to shun,
And I thought that—you could not but let me !
When your lip with a whisper came close to my cheek,
Oh think how bewitching it met me!
And, plain as the eye of a Venus could speak,
Your eye seem'd to say-you would let me !
Then forgive the transgression, and bid me remain,
For, in truth, if I go, you'll regret me;
Or oh!-let me try the transgression again,
And I'll do all you wish-will you let me?
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