TO EVA.

A beam upon the myrtle fell

From dewy evening's purest sky,

‘ Twas like the glance I love so well,

Dear Eva, from thy moonlight eye.

I looked around the summer grove,

On every tree its lustre shone;

For all had felt that look of love

The silly myrtle deemed its own.

Eva! behold thine image there,

As fair, as false thy glances fall;

But who the worthless smile would share

That sheds its light alike on all.