By That Smile Which Made Me Blest

By that smile which made me blest,
And left me soon the wretch you see-
By that heart I once possest,
Which now, they say, is given to thee-
By St. Clara's wrongs and woes-
Trust not young Glenarvon's vows.

By those lays which breathe around
A poet's great and matchless art-
By that voice whose silver sound
Can soothe to peace th' imprisoned heart-
By every bitter pang I prove-
Trust not young Glenarvon's love.

Each brighter, kinder hope forsaking,
Bereft of all that made life dear
My health impaired, my spirit breaking,
Yet still too proud to shed one tear:

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poem by Lady Caroline Lamb
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Little Birds In Yonder Grove

Little birds in yonder grove,
Making nests, and making love,
Come sing upon your favorite tree,
Once more your sweetest songs to me:
An exile from these scenes I go,
Whither, I neither care nor know:
Perhaps to some far distant shore,
Never again to hear you more.
The river Lea glides smoothly by,
Unconscious of my agony.
This bursting sigh-this last sad tear,
On quitting all I hold so dear,
Are felt-are heard-are seen by none,
Left as I am by every one.
Farewell to Brocket's gladsome hall,
Farewell to Dawson's fruitful wall,
Farewell to Hassard's cheering smile,
His hearty laugh, which cares no guile:
Ever supported, 'till a sad tear,
Dimm'd his bright eye for me this year.

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poem by Lady Caroline Lamb
Added by Poetry Lover
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