By the silence sweetly broken
When the full heart murmur'd low,
And with sighs the words were spoken
Ere the later tears did flow;
By the blush and soft confession;
By the wanderings side by side;
By the love-denied possession;
And the heavenlier, so denied;
By the faith yet undiverted;
By the worship sacred yet;
To the soul so long deserted,
Come, as when of old we met;
Blooming as my youth beheld thee
In the trysting-place of yore,—
Hark a footfall! I have spell'd thee,
Lo, thy living smile once more!
PART II.
THE MEETING-PLACE OF OLD.
Glides the brooklet through the rushes,
Now with dipping boughs at play,
Now with quicker music-gushes
Where the pebbles chafe the way.
Lonely from the lonely meadows
Slopes the undulating hill;
And the slowness of its shadows
But at sunset gains the rill:
Not a sign of man's existence,
Not a glimpse of man's abode,
Yet the church-spire in the distance
Links the solitude with God.
All so quiet, all so glowing,
In the golden hush of noon;
Nature's still heart overflowing
From the breathless lips of June.
Song itself the bird forsaketh,
Save from wooded deeps remote,
Mellowly and singly breaketh,
Mellowly, the cuckoo's note.