The Dilemma

Now, by the blessed Paphian queen,     Who heaves the breast of sweet sixteen;     By every name I cut on bark     Before my morning star grew dark;     By Hymen's torch, by Cupid's dart,     By all that thrills the beating heart;     The bright black eye, the melting blue, -     I cannot choose between the two.     I had a vision in my dreams; -     I saw a row of twenty beams;     From every beam a rope was hung,     In every rope a lover swung;     I asked the hue of every eye     That bade each luckless lover die;     Ten shadowy lips said, heavenly blue,     And ten accused the darker hue.     I asked a matron which she deemed     With fairest light of beauty beamed;     She answered, some thought both were fair, -     Give her blue eyes and golden hair.     I might have liked her judgment well,     But, as she spoke, she rung the bell,     And all her girls, nor small nor few,     Came marching in, - their eyes were blue.     I asked a maiden; back she flung     The locks that round her forehead hung,     And turned her eye, a glorious one,     Bright as a diamond in the sun,     On me, until beneath its rays     I felt as if my hair would blaze;     She liked all eyes but eyes of green;     She looked at me; what could she mean?     Ah! many lids Love lurks between,     Nor heeds the coloring of his screen;     And when his random arrows fly,     The victim falls, but knows not why.     Gaze not upon his shield of jet,     The shaft upon the string is set;     Look not beneath his azure veil,     Though every limb were cased in mail.     Well, both might make a martyr break     The chain that bound him to the stake;     And both, with but a single ray,     Can melt our very hearts away;     And both, when balanced, hardly seem     To stir the scales, or rock the beam;     But that is dearest, all the while,     That wears for us the sweetest smile.