To My Georgie

MY cousin, I am gazing on thee now,And well I mark, with soul of joy and pride,The changing beauty of thy glorious face.With rapture swelling in my heart of loveI gaze upon thy young and joyous cheek,Where roses pure reveal their richest dyes,And shed their sweetest perfume—thy soft eye,Thy soft, meek eye of mild and tender blue,Trembling beneath its dark and fringy lash,And glowing with the spirit-dreams that seemReflected from its calm, mysterious depths,Like gems from ocean-caves—thy lofty browO'er which the blue veins stray like tranquil streamsAlong a lovely plain—thy temples pale,Where thy brown wealth of waving tresses floatsIn beautiful luxuriance—thy lipsOf richest coral, where a thousand smilesAppear and flee in frolic chase, like birdsAround a sleeping lake at morning-tide—I gaze on these, sweet cousin, and in allI see a spirit of deep purity;A living, breathing, glowing soul of deepAnd holy purity, from which dark ViceAnd Sin would cower and fly, rebuked and quelledAs by Religion's power.

My cousin dear,Thou art a very dream of loveliness,And beauty is thy purity. Thou artA creature whose high soul is troubled notWith the temptations of a world of sin.Thy gentle spirit here hath kept undimmedThe angel-charm on which our God in heavenSet His own signet of unchanging truth.I love thee, and I reverence thy highAnd holy strength of purpose. Gentleness,And loftiness, and virtue are in allThy feelings, and they stamp thy mortal lifeWith an immortal beauty.

Cousin dear,As here I fix my tearful eyes on thee,And hear thy tones of pure and gentle love,My spirit seems to see an angel's form,And hear the cadence of an angel's voice.Thou art young, pure, and sweet—life beckons theeTo a bright destiny. Thy loving friendsAre ever, ever round thee, making earthAll that thy true and gentle heart could craveIn its wild fairy visions. There are thoseFor ever round thy glowing path, who flingA brightness on thy being, and to whomThy own sweet life is as the radiant beamAnd the refreshing dew-drop to the parchedAnd desert earth. Ay, thou art blest with allThat makes life beautiful, with not one cloudTo dim thy heaven. Thus may it ever be,Dear friend, with thee. May no dark sorrows e'erCome o'er thy tranquil life, like those that frownSo dark o'er my sad fate. Oh I would prayThe Power who sends to me a night of griefAnd storm of bitter tears, to give to theeThe bright sky where no thunder-cloud e'er breaksThe holy blue to give thee a bright path,Where no foul serpents coil to blight andThe angels' shining footsteps, and no thornsMingle with love's pure garlands.

Cousin sweet,May peace, and joy, and hope be thine on earthMay these e'er be thy blessed ministers,Thy guardian-spirits here, and may they crownThy beaming brow in God's own Paradise,With their b6ght wreath of immortality.

Ohio River, June 23