"I've loved thee, man, with an ardent love; I've sworn it by each orb above-- By the glorious Sun when he sank to rest, And lit with his beams the glowing west-- By the pallid Moon, when her silver beam Danced gladly o'er yon murmuring stream, Upon whose verdant banks with you I've stood that holy orb to view-- And by every lamp which the dusk of even Hung out in the glittering arch of heaven. I cannot _now_ deny the flame Which has wasted thus my wretched frame-- For I've told it thee by many a word Which came from the core of my bleeding heart, As you touched each thrilling, aching chord, By that hellish power, thy fiendish art. I've told it thee by many a sigh, By many a tear in my weary eye, By many a sob, and many a groan, Which burst from the lips of thy '_lovely one_'-- And I've told it thee by the burning streak Which so often lit my fevered cheek, As you played with each glittering curl of jet That waved on the neck of '_Thy Martinette!_' Come hither thou fiend and gaze upon me; Behold the wreck of thy hellish power-- Come hither, I have a _blessing_ for thee, Which thou shalt hear in my dying hour. "That maiden, she of the lovely face, Who holds in thy heart _my_ wretched place, Shall become thy bride, and her first born son Be a monster, hideous to gaze upon! And the sight of the thing shall drive her mad! And while she's screaming in accents wild, She shall call upon thee in tones most sad, Thyself to murder her hideous child! Oh, she shall shriek in her wild despair, And her phrensied eye, with a fearful glare, Full on thy faithless face shall gleam-- And with lips of foam and teeth close set, Her voice full in thy ear shall scream, 'Remember the curse of _thy Martinette!_' And with fingers of blood she shall rend her cheek-- And those lips which now in their freshness part, Shall utter as wild and terrific a shriek As ever yet burst from my broken heart; And her every shriek and her every groan Shall wither thy heart, thou faithless one! And thus she shall die, ere reason's dawn The veil from her wildered soul hath drawn. But her blasted babe, that hideous thing, Shall live--and its frightful presence shall bring Galling thoughts, which shall have the power To blast thy every peaceful hour! By its blasted form thou shalt never forget The dying curse of _thy Martinette!_" She spoke, and sunk back on her dying bed, And the blood gushed forth from her lips of foam! They raised her again--but the spirit had fled Away, away to its secret home! For the Southern Literary Messenger. TO MRS. B. G. S. When Summer sheds her soft perfume The bowers among-- When all the earth is rich in bloom, The sky in song-- When evening's golden clouds like shadows flee, Turn for an instant then your thoughts on me.