Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong?
Such as my feelings were and are, thou art;
And such as thou art were my passions long.
And left long wrecks behind, and now again,
Borne in our old unchanged career, we move;
Thou tendest wildly onward to the main,
And I—to loving one I should not love!”
She drew herself half-upright with a sob. She was not mistaken! No other could have written those lines, rhythmically sad and passionate, touched with abnegation. He had been near her when she had not guessed—had been here, in this very nook where she now sat! Recently, too, for new growth had not blotted the characters. Her heart beat poignantly:
“The wave that bears my tears returns no more:
Will she return, by whom that wave shall sweep?