Bessy Bell

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Bessy Bell  (1838) 
by George Pope Morris

When life looks drear and lonely, love,
  And pleasant fancies flee,
Then will the muses only, love,
  Bestow a thought on me!
Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love,
  To waken strives in vain,
To Joy's entrancing measure, love,
  It ne'er can thrill again!
           Why mock me, Bessy Bell?

Oh do not ask me ever, love,
  For rapture-woven rhymes;
For vain is each endeavour, love,
  To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes!
Yet still believe me, dearest love,
  Though dull my song may be,
This heart still doats sincerest love,
  And grateful turns to thee!
           My once true, Bessy Bell!

Those eyes still rest upon me, love!
  I feel their magick spell!
With that same look you won me, love,
  Fair, gentle Bessy Bell!
My doom you've idly spoken, love,
  You never can be mine!
But though my heart is broken, love,
  Still, lady, it is thine!
           Adieu, false Bessy Bell!