The Charm

They say there's a secret charm which lies
In some wild flow'rets bell,
That grows in a vale where the west wind sighs,
And where secrets best might dwell;
And they who can find the fairy flower,
A treasure possess that might grace a throne,
For oh! they can rule with the softest power,
The heart they would make their own.
The Indian has toil'd in the dusky mine,
For the gold that has made him a slave;
Or, plucking the pearl from the sea-god's shrine,
Has tempted the wrath of the wave;
But ne'er has he sought, with a love like mine,
The flower that holds the heart in thrall;
Oh! rather I'd win that charm divine,
Than their gold and their pearl and all!
I've sought it by day, from morn till eve,
I've won it-in dreams at night;
And then how I grieve my couch to leave,
And sigh at the morning's light:
Yet sometimes I think in a hopeful hour,
The blissful moment I yet may see
To win the fair flower from the fairy's bower
And give it love-to thee.