With a strange light his eyes dilated—flashed.
“Great God, ’tis she!” the accents trembling rung
On his pale lips, when to his breast she sprung;
Oh, to that moment what were years of pain,
For young life’s glory has returned again!
Nor words nor murmur break the night’s profound—
Thus still the full heart robs the lips of sound;
And save the glances from their eyes that shoot
There is no sign—for happiness is mute.
VIII.