They sit and listen to their fears; And he, who through the breach had led Over the dying and the dead, Shakes if a cricket's cry he hears! Oh! she was good as she was fair. None-none on earth above her! As pure in thought as angels are, To know her was to love her. When little, and her eyes, her voice, 66 Her every gesture said, " rejoice," Her coming was a gladness; And, as she grew, her modest grace, Her downcast look 'twas heaven to trace, When, shading with her hand her face, Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted; But she is dead to him, to all! Her lute hangs silent on the wall; She, who would lead him where he went, Lay there his glass within his book; (Queen Mab's, perchance, in days of old,) Tusk of elephant and gold; Which, when a tale is long, dispenses Its fragrant dust to drowsy senses. In her who mourned not, when they missed her, No more the orphan runs to take Praising the busy and the good. The widow trims her hearth in vain. She comes not-nor will come again. Not now, his little lesson done, With Frederic blowing bubbles in the sun; (Some story of the days of old, Barbe Bleue or Chaperon Rouge half-told To him who would not be denied ;) Gone to the falls in Valembrè, Where 'tis night at noon of day ; Nor wandering up and down the wood, Where once a wild deer, wild no more, Her chaplet on his antlers wore, And at her bidding stood. II. THE day was in the golden west; And, curtained close by leaf and flower, In Jacqueline's deserted bower; The doves-that still would at her casement peck, And in her walks had ever fluttered round With purple feet and shining neck, That casement, underneath the trees, Though many a drop may yet be seen And feigning, as they grew in size, With dimpled cheeks and laughing eyes, As he and Fear were strangers. St. Pierre sat by, nor saw nor smiled. His eyes were on his loved Montaigne ; But every leaf was turned in vain. 22 Then in that hour remorse he felt, And his heart told him he had dealt A father may awhile refuse; But who can for another choose? Oh rather, rather hope to bind Or fix thy foot upon the ground To stop the planet rolling round. The light was on his face; and there You might have seen the passions drivenResentment, Pity, Hope, Despair— Like clouds across the face of Heaven. His hand withdrawing from his brow, |