Ellen

Ellen, my heart is not yet thine, And still I can but sigh, Whene'er I view thy semblance shine In Memory's mirror nigh.

Thy brow so soft—thy cheek so fair— Thy looks so sweetly mild— Thy angel air—thy angel smile, My spirit have beguiled.

Ellen, my heart is not yet thine, But oft my fancy dreams— When evening's peaceful shades decline Along our mountain streams.

Yes! oft my tranced fancy sees, Mid evening's deepening shade, Thy airy form—and, in the breeze, Thy voice I hear, sweet maid!

Oh! Ellen! may yon heavens smile, On thee, their beauteous birth, And with the loveliest joys beguile Thy path amid the earth.