II.

THE IDIOT BOY.

Who stands between thee and the sun?-- A cloud himself,--the Wandering One! A vacant wonder in the eyes,-- The mind, a blank, unwritten scroll;-- The light was in the laughing skies, And darkness in the Idiot's soul. He touch'd the book upon her knee-- He look'd into her gentle face-- "Thou dost not tremble, maid, to see Poor Arthur by thy dwelling-place. I know not why, but where I pass The aged turn away; And if my shadow vex the grass, The children cease from play. _My_ only playmates are the wind, The blossom on the bough! "Why are thy looks so soft and kind? Thou dost not tremble--thou!" Though none were by, she trembled not-- Too meek to wound, too good to fear him; And, as he linger'd on the spot, She hid the tears that gush'd to hear him.--