WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

When midst the gay I meet

That gentle smile of thine,

Tho’ still on me it turns most sweet,

I scarce can call it mine:

But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,

Oh, then I feel those tears my own,

And claim them while they flow.

Then still with bright looks bless

The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,

But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile in many a beam,

Yet still in chains of coldness sleep.

How bright soe'er it seem.

But, when some deep-felt ray

Whose touch is fire appears,

Oh, then the smile is warmed away,

And, melting, turns to tears.

Then still with bright looks bless

The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,

But keep your tears for me.