Toward the wilderness, as he would find
Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts.
Long had he loved her with a matchless love,
Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth;
And she was his—by every sacred tie—
His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt
On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell,
That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses:
Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal
To her large, azure eye a startled glance