Imatges de pÓgina

So sat she fixed; and so observed was she
Of one, who at the door stood tenderly,-
Paulo, who from a window seeing her

Go straight across the lawn, and guessing where, . Had thought she was in tears, and found, that day, His usual efforts vain to keep away.

"May I come in?" said he:—it made her start,— That smiling voice;-she coloured, pressed her heart

A moment, as for breath, and then with free

And usual tone said, "O yes,


There's wont to be, at conscious times like these,

An affectation of a bright-eyed ease,

An air of something quite serene and sure,

As if to seem so, were to be, secure :

With this the lovers met, with this they spoke,

With this they sat down to the self-same book,
And Paulo, by degrees, gently embraced

With one permitted arm her lovely waist;
And both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree,
Leaned with a touch together, thrillingly;

And o'er the book they hung, and nothing said,

And every lingering page grew longer as they read.

As thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart Their colour change, they came upon the part Where fond Geneura, with her flame long nurst, Smiled upon Launcelot when he kissed her first:— That touch, at last, through every fibre slid;

And Paulo turned, scarce knowing what he did,
Only he felt he could no more dissemble,

And kissed her, mouth to mouth, all in a tremble.

Sad were those hearts, and sweet was that long kiss: Sacred be love from sight, whate'er it is.

The world was all forgot, the struggle o'er,

Desperate the joy.—That day they read no more.





SORROW, they say, to one with true touched ear,
Is but the discord of a warbling sphere,

A lurking contrast, which though harsh it be,
Distils the next note more deliciously.

E'en tales like this, founded on real woe,
From bitter seed to balmy fruitage grow:

The woe was earthly, fugitive, is past;


song that sweetens it, may always last.

And even they, whose shattered hearts and frames

Make them unhappiest of poetic names,

« AnteriorContinua »