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    I.   Table of Contents     III.

Bibb, Eloise



The moon shone bright one cloudless night,
The earth was bathed in silver light.
I strolled along, quite tired of life,
I longed to rid myself of strife.
In vain I struggled to forget,
Oh, how I loathed the day we met.

I came upon a mansion bright,
From every window streamed the light;
Sweet strains of music reached my ear,
And peals of laughter loud and clear.
"Ah! this gay throng, I quickly see,
would be no place for woeful me."

I hurried on. But hark! Just see,
Who is this walks you balcony
All clothed in pure, seraphic white?--
I know that form, e'en though it's night.
I've heard that voice,--can it be true?
My Imogene, say--is it you?

Be still, she speaks; my God! 'Tis she!
Oh, list! My darling speaks of me,--
Of me, whom I believed she loathed:
Oh, can it be her love was clothed
Within a garb of blackest hate?
But now the knowledge comes too late

"O love, come back!" I hear her cry,
My Waldershaw, for thee I sing!
My heart was thine long years ago
Didst thou not see? Didst thou not know?
Alas! I kept the secret well,--
This love will be my funeral knell.

She wrings her hands in silent woe;
O God! I watch her shadow go
From off the lonely balcony,
And leave me sighing mournfully,
A still, small voice I've learned to hate,
Within me whispered,"Tis--too late.

    I.   Table of Contents     III.