THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED.

As on a waveless sea, a vessel strikes

Upon a treacherous rock;

Waking the sailors from their happy dreams

By the swift, terrible shock.

Dreaming of shaded village streets, and home,

Forgetting the cruel sea

Till the shock came — so woke I, yet I know

‘ Twas Love, I loved, not he.

‘ Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps,

Only its form reflected in the stream;

‘ Tis not a broken heart I mourn,

Only a broken dream.

I should have died when he was brought so low,

Had it been him I loved,

Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak

The ivy clings unmoved.

‘ Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes

Burning with marvellous flame;

Love was the idol that I worshipped, though

I gave to it his name.

I gave to Love his name, his glance, his brow,

His low-toned voice, his smile,

Oh, soul be patient; I can sever them

But yet a little while —

Before I put away these outward forms

Deceiving, sweet disguises, which Love wore

Let my heart break into regretful tears

Just once, and then no more.

Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail

Bearing away a guest of truest worth,

They give this little time to grief, and then

Return to their desolate hearth,

And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers,

Let the pure air into the vacant room,

So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all

Shall penetrate its gloom.

I will be patient, in a little time

Quiet, and full of rest,

Gods's peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird,

Settle upon my breast.

Not always thus shall beat my restless heart

Like a wild eagle‘ gainst its prison-bars;

In some calm twilight of the future time

I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars.