The Spell

'LOVE'S a pleasure, love's a treasure, Why the joys of love withstand?' Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth And—What ails the lily-wand? Lighter grow her airs and lighter— Glances she would shun she seeks; Brighter burn her eyes, and brighter Burns the scarlet on her cheeks. Leaps her heart within her; cheerly Smiles the earth in silence girt; Dance the stars above, and rarely, All in concord with her heart. Redder than the red rose blowing Sinks she in her woer's arms Many a mad, mad vow avowing Melt they in each other's charms. For a season vanished reason— Vanished to return and view Loved and lover—doomed for ever— Doom'd the spell of love to rue.