And he hath spoken! Knew I not he would?
Though flitting fears, like clouds o'er lakes, would cast
Shadows o'er true love's trust. The tear-drop stood
In his dark eye; he trembled. But 't is past,
And I am his, he mine. Why trembled he?
This fond heart knew he not; and that his eye
Governed its tides, as doth the moon the sea;
And that with him, for him, 't were bliss to die?
Yet said I naught. Shame on me, that my cheek
And eye my hoarded secret should betray!
Why wept I? And why was I sudden weak,
So weak his manly arm was stretched to stay?
How like a suppliant God he looked! His sweet,
Low voice, heart-shaken, spoke—and all was known;
Yet, from the first, I felt our souls must meet,
Like stars that rush together and shine on.
THE BRIDAL MORNING
J. Hayter A. B. Ross
Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine
[THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.]
OR, ROSE BUDD.
Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool
I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but
Travelers must be content. As You Like It.