"
He spake, and down the mountain's side,
With quick, impatient step, he hied,
Threading the forest's lonely gloom,
A ruthless minister of doom.
VII.
'Twas midnight; calmly slept the Earth,
And the mysterious eyes above,
Gazed down with chastened looks of love,
Not, as when first they hymned her birth,
With ardent songs of holy mirth,
But mournfully serene and clear;--
As on some erring one we gaze,
Whose feet have strayed from wisdom's ways,
But who, in error, still is dear.
Far o'er yon swiftly flowing stream
Fair fell the young moon's silver beam,
And gazing on its restless sheen,
Stood one whose garb, and port, and mien,
Bespoke him of a foreign land,
One born to win, and hold command;
The master mind, the leading one,
Where deeds of manly might were done.
Yet, by the hallowed glow, that came
O'er lip and cheek, o'er eye and brow,
He who beheld, might guess that now
His thoughts were not of wealth and fame:
Whence could that veiling radiance shine,
Save from Affection's holy shrine?
And this was he, who from afar,
Had come to bear away his bride;
And love had been the guiding star,
That lit him o'er the trackless tide;
"To-morrow, on its sunny wing,
My bridal hour soon shall bring;
And those bright orbs which o'er me shed
Such gentle radiance from on high,
Shall shine upon my nuptial bed,
When next they walk along the sky.
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