Why that blush on Ella's cheek,What doth the flitting wanderer seek?Doth passion's blackening tempest scowl,To agitate my Ella's soul?
Return, sweet wanderer, fear no harm;The heart which Ella's breast doth warm,Is virtue's calm, serene retreat:And ne'er with passion's storm did beat.
Return, and calmly rest, till loveShall thy sweet efficacy prove;Then come, and thy loved place resume,And fill that cheek with youthful bloom.
A blush of nature charms the heartMore than the brilliant tints of art;They please awhile, and please no more,—We hate the things we loved before.
But no unfading tints were thoseWhich to my Ella's cheek arose:They please the raptured heart, and flyBefore they pall the gazing eye.
'Twas not the blush of guilt or shameWhich o'er my Ella's features came:'Twas she who fed the poor distressed,'Twas she the indigent had blessed;
For her their prayers to heaven were raised,On her the grateful people gazed;'Twas when the blush suffused her cheek,Which told what words can never speak.
