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Then what was Jacqueline to do?
Her father's angry hours she knew,
And when to soothe, and when persuade;
But now her path De Courcy crossed,
Led by his falcon through the glade
He turned, beheld, admired the maid ;
And all her little arts were lost !
De Courcy, Lord of Argentiere !
Thy poverty, thy pride, St. Pierre,
Thy thirst for vengeance, sought the snare.
The day was named, the guests invited;
The bridegroom, at the gate, alighted;
When up the windings of the dell
A pastoral pipe was heard to swell,
And, lo! an humble Piedmontese,
Whose music might a lady please,
This message through the lattice bore
(She listened, and her trembling frame
Told her at once from whom it came),
“O, let us fly- to part no more !”
That morn ('t was in Ste. Julienne's cell,
As at Ste. Julienne's sacred well
Their dream of love began)-
That morn, ere many a star was set,
Their hands had on the altar met
Before the holy man.
- And now, her strength, her courage spent,
And more than half a penitent,
She comes along the path she went.
And now the village gleams at last;
The woods, the golden meadows passed,
Where, when, Toulouse, thy splendor shone,
The Troubadour, from grove to grove,
Chanting some roundelay of love,
Would wander till the day was gone.
"All will be well, my Jacqueline !
0, tremble not — but trust in me.
The good are better made by ill,
As odors crushed are sweeter still;
And, gloomy as thy past has been,
Bright shall thy future be !"
So saying, through the fragrant shade
Gently along he led the maid,
While Manchon round and round her played:
And, as that silent glen they leave,
Where by the spring the pitchers stand,
Where glow-worms light their little lamps at eve,
And fairies revel as in fairy-land
(When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round,
Her finger on her lip, to see ;
And many an acorn-cup is found
Under the greenwood tree),
From every cot above, below,
They gather as they go -
Sabot, and coif, and collerette,
The housewife's prayer, the grandame's blessing !
Girls that adjust their locks of jet,
And look and look and linger yet,
The lovely bride caressing;
saves that had learnt to lisp her name, And heroes he had led to fame.
But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
Her father's gate was open flung ?
Ah ! then he found a giant's strength;
For round him, as for life, she clung!
And when, her fit of weeping o'er,
Onward they moved a little space,
And saw an old man sitting at the door,-
Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye
That seemed to gaze on vacancy,
Then, at the sight of that beloved face,
At once to fall upon his neck she flew;
But - not encouraged — back she drew,
And trembling stood in dread suspense,
Her tears her only eloquence !
All, all — the while --- an awful distance keeping;
Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs;
And one, his little hand in hers,
Who weeps to see his sister weeping. .
Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too ;
While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Though from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.
“His praises from your lips I heard,
Till my fond heart was won;
And, if in aught his sire has erred,
0, turn not from the son !
She, whom in joy, in grief, you nursed ;
Who climbed and called you father first,
By that dear name conjures -
On her you thought — but to be kind !
When looked she up, but you inclined ?
These things, forever in her mind,
0, are they gone from yours?
Two kneeling at your feet behold;
One - one how young!
nor yet the other old. 0, spurn them not-nor look so cold! If Jacqueline be cast away, Her bridal be her dying day.
Well, well might she believe in you!
She listened, and she found it true.”
He shook his aged locks of snow;
And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came ?
begone! I'll hear no more.” But, as he spoke, his voice relented.
look thy mother wore
When she implored, and old Le Roc consented.
True, I have erred and will atone;
For still I love him as my own.
And now, in my hands, yours with his unite ;
A father's blessing on your heads alight !
Nor let the least be sent away.
All hearts shall sing 'Adieu to sorrow!'
St. Pierre has found his child to-day;
And old and young shall dance to-morrow.
Had Louis* then before the gate dismounted,
Lost in the chase at set of sun;
Like Henry when he heard recounted *
The generous deeds himself had done
(What time the miller's maid Colette
Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette),
Then --- when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,
Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed
A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,
Without it what are all the rest?
To love, and to be loved again.