The False Maiden

Oh, wert thou hail'd the sole queen
Of all that greets the day-star's view,
And brighter were thy beauty's sheen
Than ever form that fancy drew,
Yet I would never love thee —
No, no, I would not love thee!
Nor ever sigh or tear of mine
Should idly strive to move thee.
As brightly rolls thy dark eye,
And curling falls thy glossy hair,
As soft thy warm cheek's crimson die
They swelling bosom still as fair,
As when I first did love thee,
Most tenderly did love thee;
But now no more my passion lives
Since false as fair I prove thee.
For ah! thy flinty cold heart
Ill suits thy beauty's treacherous glow,
'T is filled alone with woman's art,
And ne'er could love or pity know.
Ah, wo to him who loves thee! —
Not knowing thee he loves thee;
For thou canst trifle with his woes,
While passion never moves thee.
With what fond love I wooed thee,
Each sleepless night sad witness bears,
My breast that heaved with sighs for thee,
My wan cheek wet with bitter tears.
All told how much I loved thee,
And thou didst know I loved thee,
And thou couldst smile to see the pain
Of him who dearly loved thee.
But broken is the fond spell:
My fate no more depends on thee;
And thou, perhaps, one day shaft tell
Thy sorrow and remorse for me;
For none can ever love thee
As dearly as I loved thee,
And I shall court thy chains no more, —
No! no! I will not love thee!