36
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
Each lay of lighter feeling slept,
I sang, but, as I sang, I wept.
THE CHARMED CUP.
And fondly round his neck she clung;
Her long black tresses round him flung,
Love chains, which would not let him part;
And he could feel her beating heart,
The pulses of her small white hand,
The tears she could no more command,
The lip which trembled, though near his,
The sigh that mingled with her kiss;—
Yet parted he from that embrace.
He cast one glance upon her face:
His very soul felt sick to see
Its look of utter misery;
