Self-congratulations

Ellen, you were thoughtless once

Of beauty or of grace,

Simple and homely in attire,

Careless of form and face;

Then whence this change? and wherefore now

So often smoothe your hair?

And wherefore deck your youthful form

With such unwearied care?

Tell us, and cease to tire our ears

With that familiar strain;

Why will you play those simple tunes

So often o'er again?

"Indeed, dear friends, I can but say

That childhood's thoughts are gone;

Each year its own new feelings brings,

And years move swiftly on:

"And for these little simple airs—

I love to play them o'er

So much—I dare not promise, now,

To play them never more."

I answered—and it was enough;

They turned them to depart;

They could not read my secret thoughts,

Nor see my throbbing heart.

I've noticed many a youthful form,

Upon whose changeful face

The inmost workings of the soul

The gazer well might trace;

The speaking eye, the changing lip,

The ready blushing cheek,

The smiling, or beclouded brow,

Their different feelings speak.

But, thank God! you might gaze on mine

For hours, and never know

The secret changes of my soul

From joy to keenest woe.

Last night, as we sat round the fire

Conversing merrily,

We heard, without, approaching steps

Of one well known to me!

There was no trembling in my voice,

No blush upon my cheek,

No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,

Of hope, or joy, to speak;

But, oh! my spirit burned within,

My heart beat full and fast!

He came not nigh—he went away—

And then my joy was past.

And yet my comrades marked it not:

My voice was still the same;

They saw me smile, and o'er my face

No signs of sadness came.

They little knew my hidden thoughts;

And they will NEVER know

The aching anguish of my heart,

The bitter burning woe!