Isabel

Joyous as the wild squirrel in the forest,
Or in the dancing waves the silver eel,
Till thou, to the bright heaven, in which thou soarest,
Didst fascinate my footsteps, Isabel!
O, I was happy—now, alas! thou pourest
A stream of sorrow into my heart's well ;
And hill and valley's echoes wake the sorest
Of all the pangs of grief ineffable,
That thou—thou art another's—that sad thought
Breaks up my heart—and o'er my being flings
The deepest clouds of darkness—they have brought
Garlands of flowers to crown thee at the shrine
Of Hymen. Joy the marriage-anthem sings—
Yet they have brought thee not a love like mine.