From Chairolas, Prince of Paida, with Other Tales, Philadelphia, 1836, pages 91-92
91
AMINA.
BY L. E. L.
Not yet to the dancers—love, leave not thy seat;
My own is the ground that is touched by thy feet.
They'll not miss thee, tho' thine be the foot and the hand,
The lightest, the whitest, that shine thro’ their band.
Give not to the revel a look nor a thought:
Mine own be the moment which dearly I’ve bought.
I know not what Fate will demand for delay;
I know I am happy—I know I will stay.
No power upon earth but thy own can divide
My heart from thy heart, and my step from thy side.
II.
I see thy lip tremble, I see thy cheek white,
And thy large eyes look strangely upon me to-night.
But I call not back, maiden, one word I have said;
There is blood on my hand, and a price on my head;
One merit—one only, my faults may atone;
Whatever I am—I am truly thine own:
One wave of thy hand, or one look from thine eye,
O'er the wide world would send me, that world to defy.
I love thee, Amina! as few ever love;
I Look to thy face as to heaven above;
For thy sake I think of my earlier years;
I bring to thy bosom its memories and tears.
III.
I saw thee—the parasite creepers had made
Of leaves and of blossoms a sweet ambuscade;
