His passion soon declared, their mutual vows were plighted.
XVII.
Hast thou not seen a clear and sparkling rill,
Upon whose ripplings joyous sunbeams quiver,
Flow swift, yet tranquil, from its native hill
Straight to the bosom of some mighty river,—
Its separate existence lost for ever,
Its name, its nature, sunk in the devotion
Of that great confluence? Calm as to the Giver,
Her life she gave, nor struggle nor commotion