Morisa. Poem by Samuel Bamford

Morisa.



Ah me! that Morisa I never had seen,
The fairest of mortals, of beauty the queen!
I'd then remain'd free as the bird in the air,
But now I am held in the bonds of despair;
And the chains of her thraldom I cannot resign,
Though I know that Morisa must never be mine.

The eye of Morisa doth pierce like a dart;
I caught but a glance and it wounded my heart;
The throb of my bosom is bleeding away;
My morning is darken'd before it be clay;
Would she look on her victim with mercy benign,
I could die for Morisa and never repine!

Morisa the beauty, I saw her sweet smile;
That look might an angel from heaven beguile;
A radiant loveliness beam'd in her face,
Expressive of dignity, goodness, and grace;
I then became captive and did not repine,
Though I knew that Morisa must never be mine!

Morisa the lovely, I once beard her sigh;
There was thought on her brow, and a tear in her eye;
The spirit of sadness a shadow had thrown
Where the sun-light of beauty so lately had shone;
But the sigh of her soul had a fragrance divine;
It was meant for another—it could not be mine!

She is fair as the snow that on Alphian lies;
She is pure as the ether of heaven's own skies;
She is modest as innocent beauty can be,
And chaste as the white-bosom'd maid of the sea,
To bow and adore her I could not decline,
Though I knew that Morisa must never be mine!

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