I know her story-telling eye has more expression than her tongue; and from that heart-extorted sigh, at once the peal of love is rung. When that soft eye lets fall a tear of doating fondness as we part, the stream is from a cause sincere, and issues from a melting heart. What shall her fluttering pulse restrain, the life-watch beating from her soul, when all the power of hate is slain, and love permits it no control. When said her tongue, I wish thee well, her eye declared it must be true; and every sentence seem'd to tell the tale of sorrow told by few. When low she bow'd and wheel'd aside, I saw her blushing temples fade; her smiles were sunk in sorrow's tide, but love was in her eye betray'd.
George Moses Horton (1779-1883)