March 15, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 24. Page 1
O beautiful maiden! Rare beautiful maiden!
Eyes like the blue of the violet’s bloom;
Lips that had pilfered the pink of the sea-shell;
Hair shaded dark as the wing of night’s gloom.
I know not the radiant land whence she came,
I know not what skies above her had bent,
I know not the power whose generous hand
Such beauty her wondrous features had lent.
This much my fancy beguiled me, saying—
She is a dangerous maiden to know—
She will bewilder thee, she will enthrall thee,
She will drown thee in bliss, and plunge thee in woe.