short specimen: cold and languid as the lines may seem, it was almost a passion of grief to which they owed their being.
"O, they have robbed me of the hope
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that voice
My soul delights to hear.
"They will not let me see that face
I so delight to see;
And they have taken all thy smiles,
And all thy love from me.
"Well, let them seize on all they can;—
One treasure still is mine,—
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine."
Yes! at least, they could not deprive me of that; I could think of him day and night; and I could feel that he was worthy to be thought of. Nobody knew him as I did; nobody could appreciate him as I did; nobody could love him as I. . .could, if I might; but there was the evil. What business had I to think so much of one that never thought of me? Was it not foolish?. . .was it not wrong?
