‘Yet cold the river, and dark the night,
(Christabel, Christabel)
And I fain would flee towards the light,’
(As dawns a summer’s morning).
‘My heart is cold, and my brain on fire,
(Christabel, Christabel)
They are cold and burned with vain desire,’
(As dawns a summer’s morning).
She looked round at him as he stood entranced, and laughed; and then, turning to the piano, poured out the notes again, with the fulness and passion of one who is drawing to a close. The boy stood still, he could scarcely breathe or see, the whole air seemed to be full, to vibrate with the notes she sang.
‘Ah! if one ray could shine again,