The Forsaken.

Does he in my heart still find a place,
And his once loved form my mem'ry trace,
When all is vanished of pure and fair,
That my foolish fond heart cherished there?

Does my bosom swell, my pale cheek flame,
If I do but hear them speak his name;
When he thus betrayed my loving trust,
And has crashed my bright hopes all to dust?

Her form is lovelier far than mine,
And paid his vows at a grander shrine;
His hand he gives to a richer dame,
But his heart's first love is still the same.

Why gain a heart if that heart you break—
Why plight your troth if you must forsake;
I poor and despised, my love must be
Sacrificed to her pride and to thee.

Like wandering bee man has the power
To suck the sweets from each blooming flower
And if he seem but with one to rest,
'Tis only to sting that faithful breast.

When the wintry wind howls loud and drear,
Round my lonely grave in the twilight clear,
You will laugh and sing—a happy pair—
While your slighted one sleeps soundly there.