Or, sidelong-eyed, pretending not to see
The latter in the brakes come creepingly,
While from their careless urns, lying aside
In the long grass, the straggling waters slide.
Never, be sure, before or since was seen

A summer-house so fine in such a nest of green.

All the green garden, flower-bed, shade, and plot, Francesca loved, but most of all this spot.

Whenever she walked forth, wherever went
About the grounds, to this at last she bent:
Here she had brought a lute and a few books;
Here would she lie for hours, with grateful looks,
Thanking at heart the sunshine and the leaves,
The vernal rain-drops counting from the eaves,
And all that promising, calm smile we see

In nature's face, when we look patiently.

Then would she think of heaven; and you might

hear

Sometimes, when every thing was hushed and clear,

Her gentle voice from out those shades emerging, Singing the evening anthem to the Virgin.

The gardeners and the rest, who served the place, And blest whenever they beheld her face,

Knelt when they heard it, bowing and uncovered, And felt as if in air some sainted beauty hovered.

One day, 'twas on a summer afternoon, When airs and gurgling brooks are best in tune, And grasshoppers are loud, and day-work done, And shades have heavy outlines in the sun,The princess came to her accustomed bower To get her, if she could, a soothing hour, Trying, as she was used, to leave her cares Without, and slumberously enjoy the airs, And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light The vines let in, and all that hushing sight Of closing wood seen through the opening door, And distant plash of waters tumbling o’er,

And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries more.

She tried, as usual, for the trial's sake,

For even that diminished her heart-ache;

And never yet, how ill soe'er at ease,

Came she for nothing 'midst the flowers and trees.

Yet how it was she knew not, but that day,
She seemed to feel too lightly borne away,-
Too much relieved,-too much inclined to draw
A careless joy from every thing she saw,
And looking round her with a new-born eye,
As if some tree of knowledge had been nigh,
To taste of nature, primitive and free,
And bask at ease in her heart's liberty.

;

Painfully clear those rising thoughts appeared, With something dark at bottom that she feared And turning from the fields her thoughtful look, She reached o'er-head, and took her down a book, And fell to reading with as fixed an air,

As though she had been wrapt since morning

there.

'Twas Launcelot of the Lake, a bright romance,
That like a trumpet, made young pulses dance,
Yet had a softer note that shook still more ;-
She had begun it but the day before,

And read with a full heart, half sweet, half sad,
How old King Ban was spoiled of all he had
But one fair castle: how one summer's day
With his fair queen and child he went away
To ask the great King Arthur for assistance;
How reaching by himself a hill at distance

He turned to give his castle a last look,
And saw its far white face: and how a smoke,

As he was looking, burst in volumes forth,
And good King Ban saw all that he was worth,
And his fair castle, burning to the ground,

So that his wearied pulse felt over-wound,
And he lay down, and said a prayer apart
For those he loved, and broke his poor old heart.
Then read she of the queen with her young child,
How she came up, and nearly had gone wild,

F

And how in journeying on in her despair,
She reached a lake and met a lady there,
Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet

Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet
She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake,
And vanished with him underneath the lake.
The mother's feelings we as well may pass :-
The fairy of the place that lady was,

And Launcelot (so the boy was called) became
Her inmate, till in search of knightly fame
He went to Arthur's court, and played his part
So rarely, and displayed so frank a heart,

That what with all his charms of look and limb,
The Queen Geneura fell in love with him:
And here, with growing interest in her reading,
The princess, doubly fixed, was now proceeding.

Ready she sat with one hand to turn o'er The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before, The other propping her white brow, and throwing

Its ringlets out, under the skylight glowing.