Song! Poem by Eliza Acton

In Beauty's dwelling all things fair,
And rich, to win her sweet smiles strove;
But still young Beauty's only care
Was, to watch o'er the lamp of Love.

And many a day she fed the fire
With incense, precious, pure, and sweet,
Nor deem'd that beam could e'er expire,
Like falshood's gleamings, wild, and fleet.

But tir'd at length poor Beauty slept,
And while she rested, wearied quite,
Indifference to the dear lamp crept,
And quench'd its warm, and splendid light.

And Beauty woke, to find the ray
She long must bitterly deplore,
Had pass'd from her bright bow'r away,
To be re-lum'd for her, no more!-