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And is not love in vain,
'Twas but a dream !-I saw the stag leap free,
Under the boughs where early birds were singing, I stood, o'ershadow'd by the greenwood tree,
And heard, it seemed, a sudden bugle ringing
leaves trembled, as, in fleet career, A princely band, with horn, and hound, and spear, Like a rich masque swept forth. I saw the dance Of their white plumes, that bore a silvery glance Into the deep wood's heart; and all pass’d by, Save one- --I met the smile of one clear eye, Flashing out joy to mine.--Yes, thou wert there, Seymour! a soft wind blew the clustering hair Back from thy gallant brow, as thou didst rein Thy courser, turning from that gorgeous train, And fling, methought, thy hunting spear away, And, lightly graceful in thy green array, Bound to my side ; and we, that met and parted,
Eyer in dread of some dark watchful power, Won back to childhood's trust, and, fearless-hearted,
Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour,
Ev'n like the mingling of sweet streams, beneath
Of hidden forest flowers,
'Tis past! I wake, A captive, and alone, and far from thee, My love and friend! Yet fostering, for thy sake,
A quenchless hope of happiness to be ; And feeling still my woman's spirit strong, In the deep faith which lifts from earthly wrong, A beavenward glance. I know, I know our love Shall yet call gentle angels from above, By its undying fervour; and prevail, Sending a breath, as of the spring's first gale, Thro' hearts now cold; and, raising its bright face, With a free gush of sunny tears erase The characters of anguish; in this trust, I bear, I strive, I bow not to the dust, That I may bring thee back no faded form, No bosom chill'd and blighted by the storm, But all my youth's first treasures, when we meet, Making past sorrow, by communion, sweet.
And thou too art in bonds !--yet droop thou not,
To the grave's bosom, with thy radiant brow,-
Of earnest tenderness, which now, ev'n now, Seems floating thro' my sbul, were music taken For ever from this world, -oh! thus forsaken, Could I bear on ?---thou liv'st, thou liv'st, thou'rt mine! With this glad thought I make my heart a shrine, And by the lamp which quenchless there shall burn, Sit, a lone watcher for the day's return.
And lo! the joy that cometh with the morning,
Brightly victorious o'er the hours of care! I have not watch'd in vain, serenely scorning
The wild and busy whispers of despair ! Thou has sent tidings, as of heaven. I wait
The hour, the sign, for blessed flight to thee.
As a star shoots !-but on the breezy sea
Will not my heart, o'erburden'd by its bliss,
Borne down and perishing by noontide's kiss?