And mouth, which closed, yet seems to speak?
"Ah, sure, that lovely youth's from Heaven!"
A dark-eyed maiden of the wood
Sighed out upon the breath of even,
As in the mellowed light she stood.
And, ever from that fatal hour,
This white youth's image, slight and pale,
Would haunt the maiden's leafy bower,
And wake her spirit's wail.
In that high heart that fiercely hates,
Love is as fierce and wild;
And so the love is wild, that waits
To mount its height in this poor child:
This poor, frail child who born beneath
A roof of leaves, is made to dream,
That she may wear a bridal wreath
For youth of snowy gleam.
Watoga! sure some demon lied,
To thee, when wrapt amid thy sleep,
To make thee his forlornest bride,
Beneath the moaning deep.
That youth who floats an Angel through,
Thy night, thy daily dream--
He loves a maid whose eyes are blue,
And cheek like yon full moon's white beam.
The simple ornaments which thou
Hast taken thy form to deck,
The wild flower wreath that binds thy brow,
The shells that gem thy neck;
Each ornament shall deck a bride