Lie at her feet and on her slipper swear
That none were half so faultless, half so fair,
Now through the forest hies, a stricken deer,
A banished man, flying when none are near;
And writes on every tree, and lingers long
Where most the nightingale repeats her song;
Where most the nymph, that haunts the silent grove,
Delights to syllable the names we love.

Two on his steps attend, in motley clad;

One woful-wan, one merry but as mad;

Called Hope and Fear. Hope shakes his cap and bells,
And flowers spring up among the woodland dells.
To Hope he listens, wandering without measure
Through sun and shade, lost in a trance of pleasure;
And, if to Fear but for a weary mile,

Hope follows fast and wins him with a smile.
At length he goes a pilgrim to the shrine,
And for a relic would a world resign!

A glove, a shoe-tie, or a flower let fall

What though the least, Love consecrates them all!
And now he breathes in many a plaintive verse;
Now wins the dull ear of the wily nurse

At early matins ('t was at matin-time

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That first he saw and sickened in his prime),
And soon the Sibyl, in her thirst for gold,

Plays with young hearts that will not be controlled.

"Absence from thee as self from self it seems !

Scaled is the garden-wall; and, lo! her beams
Silvering the cast, the moon comes up, revealing
His well-known form along the terrace stealing.
- O, ere in sight he came, 't was his to thrill
A heart that loved him though in secret still.

"Am I awake? or is it . . . can it be

An idle dream? Nightly it visits me!

That strain," she cries,

66 as from the water rose;

Now near and nearer through the shade it flows!
Now sinks departing - sweetest in its close!"
No casement gleams; no Juliet, like the day,
Comes forth and speaks and bids her lover stay.
Still, like aërial music heard from far

As through the doors of Paradise ajar,
Nightly it rises with the evening-star.

"She loves another! Love was in that sigh!" On the cold ground he throws himself to die. Fond youth, beware! Thy heart is most deceiving.

Who wish are fearful; who suspect, believing.

And soon her looks the rapturous truth avow.
Lovely before, O, say how lovely now! 23

She flies not, frowns not, though he pleads his cause;
Nor yet-nor yet her hand from his withdraws;
But by some secret power surprised, subdued,
(Ah! how resist? And would she if she could?)
Falls on his neck as half unconscious where,
Glad to conceal her tears, her blushes, there.
Then come those full confidings of the past;
All sunshine now, where all was overcast.
Then do they wander till the day is gone,
Lost in each other; and when night steals on,
Covering them round, how sweet her accents are!
O, when she turns and speaks, her voice is far,
Far above singing! But soon nothing stirs

To break the silence—joy like his, like hers,
Deals not in words; and now the shadows close,
Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows

Less and less earthly! As departs the day,
All that was mortal seems to melt away,
Till, like a gift resumed as soon as given,
She fades at last into a spirit from Heaven!

Then are they blest indeed; and swift the hours Till her young sisters wreathe her hair in flowers, Kindling her beauty while, unseen, the least

Twitches her robe, then runs behind the rest,
Known by her laugh that will not be suppressed.
Then before All they stand the holy vow
And ring of gold, no fond illusions now,
Bind her as his. Across the threshold led,
And every tear kissed off as soon as shed,
His house she enters there to be a light
Shining within, when all without is night;
A guardian-angel o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing;
Winning him back, when mingling in the throng,
From a vain world we love, alas! too long,
To fireside happiness, and hours of ease
Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
How oft her eyes read his! her gentle mind
To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined;
Still subject ever on the watch to borrow
Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts - touch them but rightly - pour
A thousand melodies unheard before ! 24

Nor many moons o'er hill and valley rise

Ere to the gate with nymph-like step she flies,

And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy,
With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy,
To meet him coming; theirs through every year
Pure transports, such as each to each endear!
And laughing eyes and laughing voices fill
Their home with gladness. She, when all are still,
Comes and undraws the curtain as they lie,
In sleep how beautiful! He, when the sky
Gleams, and the wood sends up its harmony,
When, gathering round his bed, they climb to share
His kisses, and with gentle violence there.
Break in upon a dream not half so fair,
Up to the hill-top leads their little feet;
Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meet
The stag-herd on its march, perchance to hear
The otter rustling in the sedgy mere;
Or to the echo near the Abbot's tree,

That gave him back his words of pleasantry --
When the House stood, no merrier man than he!
And, as they wander with a keen delight,
If but a leveret catch their quicker sight
Down a green alley, or a squirrel then

Climb the gnarled oak, and look and climb again,
If but a moth flit by, an acorn fall,

He turns their thoughts to Him who made them all
These with unequal footsteps following fast,
These clinging by his cloak, unwilling to be last.
The shepherd on Tornaro's misty brow,
And the swart scaman, sailing far below,
Not undelighted watch the morning ray
Purpling the orient till it breaks away,
And burns and blazes into glorious day!

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But happier still is he who bends to trace
That sun, the soul, just dawning in the face;
The burst, the glow, the animating strife,
The thoughts and passions stirring into life;
The forming utterance, the inquiring glance,
The giant waking from his ten-fold trance,
Till up he starts as conscious whence he came,
And all is light within the trembling frame !

What then a father's feelings? Joy and fear In turn prevail, —-joy most; and through the year Tempering the ardent, urging night and day Him who shrinks back or wanders from the way, Praising each highly from a wish to raise Their merits to the level of his praise, Onward in their observing sight he moves, Fearful of wrong, in awe of whom he loves! Their sacred presence who shall dare profane? Who, when he slumbers, hope to fix a stain? He lives a model in his life to show, That, when he dies and through the world they go, Some men may pause and say, when some admire, "They are his sons, and worthy of their sire!" But man is born to suffer. On the door Sickness has set her mark; and now no more Laughter within we hear, or wood-notes wild As of a mother singing to her child. All now in anguish from that room retire, Where a young cheek glows with consuming fire, And innocence breathes contagion -all but one, But she who gave it birth from her alone The medicine-cup is taken. Through the night, And through the day, that with its dreary light

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