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MARY N. M'DONALD. 375

TO LIZZIE.

And all hearts do pray, "God love her!"
Ay, in certes, in good sooth,
We may be all sure He doth.
Miss Barrett.

THERE'S a charm about thee, Lizzie,
That I cannot well define,
And I sometimes think it lieth
In that soft blue eye of thine;
And yet, though pleasant is thine eye,
And beautiful thy lip——
As a rose-leaf bathed in honey dews,
A bee might love to sip,——
Yet I think it is nor lip, nor eye,
Which binds me with its spell;
But a something dearer far than these,
Though undefinable.

When I met thee, dearest Lizzie,
When I hear thy gentle tone, 
When my hand is press'd so tenderly,
So warmly in thine own;
Why then I think it is thy voice,
Whose music is like a bird's,
Can soothe me with the melody 
Of sweetly-spoken words:
Perchance the pressure of thy hand
This hidden charm may be——
Or the magic, Lizzie, of a sigh
That lures my heart to thee.

Perchance it is thy gentleness,
Perchance thy winning smile,
Which lurketh in such dimples,
As might easily beguile;

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 07:29:26