But when pensive sadness clouds thee, When thoughts, half pain, half pleasure, steal Upon the heart, and memory doth The shadowy past reveal. When seems the bliss of former years,-- Too sweet, too pure, to feel again,-- And long lost hours, scenes, friends, return, Remember me, love--then! "Ah, Clarendon! how often have I read those lines, and thought--but I will not think now! Here come the letters! Henry will soon be busy--I shall finish my drawing--and aunt will finish--no! she never _can_ finish her tambour work. Take my portfolio and give me another contribution!" Gage now wrote "The Return," which we insert for the reader's approval:-- THE RETURN. When the blue-eyed morn doth peep Over the soft hill's verdant steep, Lighting up its shadows deep, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_ When the lightsome lark doth sing Her grateful song to Nature's King, Making all the woodlands ring, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_ Or when plaintive Philomel Shall mourn her mate in some lone dell, And to the night her sorrows tell, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_ When the first green leaf of spring Shall promise of the summer bring, And all around its fragrance fling, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_ Or when the last red leaf shall fall, And winter spread its icy pall, To mind me of the death of all, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_ When the lively morning ray Is dancing on the river's spray, And sunshine gilds the joyous day, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! And when the shades of eve steal on, Lengthening as life's sun goes down, Like sweetest constancy alone, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! When I see a sweet smile play On coral lips, like Phoebus' ray, Making all look warm and gay, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! When steals the tear of pity, too, O'er a cheek, whose crimson hue Looks like rose-leaf dipp'd in dew, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! When mirth's pageant joys unbind The gloomy spells that chain my mind, And make me dream of all that's kind, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! And when pensive sadness clouds me, When the host of memory crowds me, When the shadowy past enshrouds me, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! When seems the bliss of former years,-- Too sweet, too pure, to feel again,-- And long lost hours, scenes, friends, return, I'll think of thee, love, _then_! Chapter III. The Dinner. "Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven." "Away! there need no words or terms precise, The paltry jargon of the marble mart, Where pedantry gulls folly: we have eyes."