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THE FOREST SANCTUARY.


XLII.

And she to die!—she lov'd the laughing earth
With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and flowers!
—Was not her smile even as the sudden birth
Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal showers?
Yes! but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear
The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear,
Which, oft unconsciously, in happier hours
Flow'd from her lips, was to forget the sway

Of Time and Death below,—blight, shadow, dull decay!


XLIII.

Could this change be?—the hour, the scene, where last
I saw that form, came floating o'er my mind:
—A golden vintage-eve;—the heats were pass'd,
And, in the freshness of the fanning wind,
Her father sat, where gleam'd the first faint star
Through the lime-boughs; and with her light guitar,
She, on the greensward at his feet reclin'd,
In his calm face laugh'd up; some shepherd-lay

Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play.
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