Lovely lock of auburn hue,
Let me catch thy varied curls,
There the light streak wanders thro,
Here the black its polish furls:
Little trifle, arch in guesses,
Tell me, why I count thy tresses?
Hide thee, that I cannot do;
Lose thee; never, never, never;
Love thee; as my life 'tis true,
Death alone the tie shall sever:
Absent, present, laughing, sighing,
Still I love thee; why not dying?
Sure some fairy sylph reclined,
Mid thy folds in ambush lies,
Weaving there the spells that blind,
Charms, and dreams, and smiles, and sighs;
Else, why gaze I, wrapt in sadness,
On thy knots with curious madness?
Tell the secret; was it true,
Mantling round my favorite's cheek,
(Polished snow and roseate hue,)
While the charmer turned to speak,
Quick I stole thee unperceived,
Envy urged me, love deceived.
Stern repentance marked the hour,
Soon my joy was turned to pain;
Cupid caught me in his power,
Sigh I now, and now complain,
Restless wander, fitful start,
Sure her blushes won my heart.
Mystic lock, again return,
Whence my ardent folly tore thee,
Yet I rave, despair, and burn,
Peace may come should I restore thee.
No, on subtlest mischief bent,
Thou wilt not in turn relent.
Yet I hold thee still most dear,
Lovely keepsake, bright and holy,
Thou shalt hush each throbbing fear,
Dark presage and melancholy:
While thy amulet I wear,
Who shall bid my heart despair?
O! be still my guardian guest,
Banish hence the fiends of glory,
Sleep upon my panting breast,
Listen to my plaintive story.
Should my charmer learn my sorrow,
She may bid me hope tomorrow.