A Fragment

'Maiden, thou wert thoughtless once     Of beauty or of grace,     Simple and homely in attire     Careless of form and face.     Then whence this change, and why so oft     Dost smooth thy hazel hair?     And wherefore deck thy youthful form     With such unwearied care?     'Tell us, and cease to tire our ears     With yonder hackneyed strain     Why wilt thou play those simple tunes     So often o'er again?'     'Nay, gentle friends, I can but say     That childhood's thoughts are gone.     Each year its own new feelings brings     And years move swiftly on,     And for these little simple airs,     I love to play them o'er     So much I dare not promise now     To play them never more.'     I answered and it was enough;     They turned them to depart;     They could not read my secret thoughts     Nor see my throbbing heart.     I've noticed many a youthful form     Upon whose changeful face     The inmost workings of the soul     The gazer's eye might trace.     The speaking eye, the changing lip,     The ready blushing cheek,     The smiling or beclouded brow     Their different feelings speak.     But, thank God! you might gaze on mine     For hours and never know     The secret changes of my soul     From joy to bitter woe.     Last night, as we sat round the fire     Conversing merrily,     We heard without approaching steps     Of one well known to me.     There was no trembling in my voice,     No blush upon my cheek,     No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,     Of hope or joy to speak;     But O my spirit burned within,     My heart beat thick and fast.     He came not nigh, he went away     And then my joy was past.     And yet my comrades marked it not,     My voice was still the same;     They saw me smile, and o'er my face     No signs of sadness came;     They little knew my hidden thoughts     And they will never know     The anguish of my drooping heart,     The bitter aching woe!