keepsakes.
69
To waken thoughts of love and her
When she might be a wanderer
Far, fro' from all we looked on then;
Away from those long prized so dearly,
Whom she might never see again,
Though she would love them, Oh sincerely!
Then from her hand the gift she drew,
And placed the glittering pledge on mine—
Hush! 'twas but Fancy's whispered tone:
Sweet friend, it is not thine!
Thou art beyond the surging sea,
A thousand leagues away,
But this band of pearl hath called thee back
Unto my heart to-day,
The same fair thing of light and glee
That lives within my memory.
When she might be a wanderer
Far, fro' from all we looked on then;
Away from those long prized so dearly,
Whom she might never see again,
Though she would love them, Oh sincerely!
Then from her hand the gift she drew,
And placed the glittering pledge on mine—
Hush! 'twas but Fancy's whispered tone:
Sweet friend, it is not thine!
Thou art beyond the surging sea,
A thousand leagues away,
But this band of pearl hath called thee back
Unto my heart to-day,
The same fair thing of light and glee
That lives within my memory.
A braid of hair: the hand which gave
This golden tress, had nought beside;
Hers were no jewels of the wave,
No radiant gems, no high-horn pride;
Unskilled in art, unknown to fame,
Of lowly birth and humble name—
This golden tress, had nought beside;
Hers were no jewels of the wave,
No radiant gems, no high-horn pride;
Unskilled in art, unknown to fame,
Of lowly birth and humble name—
