In the dim caverns of his hidden heart;
And in his eye gleamed such uncertain ray,
Full rarely sad, and still more rarely gay,
You ne’er could tell if joy or rage would speak
In the next moment from his changing cheek.
If wreathed in smiles, his beaming features shone
Like a breeze-dimpled streamlet in the sun;
But when the glance of anger fired his eye,
It struck like lightning from a cloudless sky.
Still in his glance, and in his lifted hand,