He spake no farther.
Such was a single evening’s intercourse with this mysterious being. More I learned from him—which in good time the reader shall have from me. Till then, adieu.
*
FANNY WILLOUGHBY.
“I love thee, Fanny Willoughby,
And that’s the why, ye see,
I woo thee, Fanny Willoughby,
And cannot let thee be,—
I sing for thee, I sigh for thee,
And O! you may depend on’t,
I’ll weep for thee, I’ll die for thee,
And that will be the end on’t.
“I love thy form so tall and straight,
To me it always seems,
As if it were the counterfeit
Of some I’ve seen in dreams,—
It makes me feel as if I had
An angel by my side,
And then I think I am so bad,
You will not be my bride.
“I love thy clear and hazel eye—
They say the blue is fairer,
And I confess that formerly
I thought the blue the rarer,—
But when I saw thine eye so clear,
Though perfectly at rest,
I did kneel down, and I did swear
The hazel was the best.
“I love thy hand so pale and soft,
The which, in days lang syne,
Ye innocent as trusting, oft
Would softly clasp in mine;
I thought it sure was chiseled out
Of marble by the geniuses,
The which the poets rant about,
The virgins and the Venuses.
“I love the sounds that from thy lip
Gush holily and free,
As rills that from their caverns slip,
And prattle to the sea;
The melody for aye doth steal
To hearts by sorrow riven,
And then I think, and then I feel
That music comes from Heaven.