IV.

"Wandering, one day, in discontented mood By a clear brook--through grassy solitude, Leading the dance of light waves chanting low-- A little world of sunshine seem'd to grow Out from the landscape--as with sudden spring From bosk and brake--leapt the stream glittering. Lo, the meek home, its porch with roses twined, Green sward before, a sacred tower behind; On the green sward the year's last flowers were gay, And the last glory of the golden day Paused on the spire, that, shining, soar'd to cleave Those clouds, the loveliest, that precede the eve.

"Along the bank, beneath the bowering tree, Young fairies play'd--young voices laugh'd in glee; One voice more mellow'd in its silver sound, Yet blithe as rang the gladdest on the ground; One shape more ripen'd, one sweet face more fair, Yet not less happy, the Titania there. Soft voice, fair face, I hear, I see ye still! Shades and dim echoes from the blissful hill Behind me left, to cast but darkness o'er The waste slow-lengthening to the grave before!

"So Love was born. With love invention came; I won my entrance, but conceal'd my name. A village priest her father, poor and wise, In aught that clears to mortal sight the skies, But blind and simple as a child to all The things that pass upon the earth we crawl; The mask'd Lothario to his eyes appear'd A student youth, by Alma Mater rear'd The word to preach, the hunger to endure, And see Ambition close upon a Cure;-- A modest youth, who own'd his learning slight, And brought his taper to the master's light. This tale believed, the good man's harmless pride Was pleased the bashful neophyte to guide: Spread out his books, and, moved to pity, press'd The backward pupil to the daily guest.

"So from a neighbouring valley, where they deem My home, each noon I cross the happy stream, And hail the eyes already watchful grown, And clasp the hand that trembles in my own; But not for guilt had I conceal'd my name, The young warm passion nursed no thought of shame; The spell that bound ennobled while it charm'd, And Romeo's love Lothario's guile disarm'd; And vain the guile had been!--impure desire Round that chaste light but hover'd to expire: Her angel nature found its own defence, Ev'n in the instincts of its innocence; As that sweet plant which opens every hue Of its frank heart to eyes content to view, But folds its leaves and shrinks in coy disdain From the least touch that would the bloom profane. Link'd with the woman's Meekness, side by side, Stood, not to lose but guard the angel, Pride; Pride, with the shield for honour, not the heart, Sacred from stain, not proof against the dart. Brief,--then, such love it was my lot to win As sways a life to every grief but--sin.