poems.
41
THE BROKEN-HEARTED.
Alone by the open window she stands,
And folds on the sill her pale white hands;
She bows her head, so silent and low,
And lifts her eye with a tearful glow.
And folds on the sill her pale white hands;
She bows her head, so silent and low,
And lifts her eye with a tearful glow.
She raises her glance to the setting sun,
And thinks of her young life, just begun;
She thinks of the one who vowed to love,
But who at her side has ceased to rove.
And thinks of her young life, just begun;
She thinks of the one who vowed to love,
But who at her side has ceased to rove.
She thinks of her childhood's happy hour,
When the pleasant bell, in yon church tower,
Pealed forth sweet chimes, and all were glad:
But now her heart is sad,—yes, very sad.
When the pleasant bell, in yon church tower,
Pealed forth sweet chimes, and all were glad:
But now her heart is sad,—yes, very sad.
She folds on her breast her snowy hands,
And in her eye the tear-drop stands.
She heeds them not! her heart is broken!
For she, alas! is now forsaken.
And in her eye the tear-drop stands.
She heeds them not! her heart is broken!
For she, alas! is now forsaken.
