But there came one—and a most lovely one As ever to the warm light of the sun Threw back her tresses—a fair sister girl, With a brow changing between snow and pearl; And the blue eyes of sadness, filled with dew Of tears—like Heaven’s own melancholy blue— So beautiful, so tender; and her form Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm: Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow— Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright In her own self—a mystery of light! With feelings tender as a star’s own hue, Pure as the morning star! as true, as true: For it will glitter in each early sky, And her first love be love that lasteth aye! And this was Agathè—young Agathè— A motherless, fair girl: and many a day She wept for her lost parent. It was sad To see her infant sorrow; how she bade The flow of her wild spirits fall away To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day Melting into a shower; and it was sad Almost to think she might again be glad— Her beauty was so chaste, amid the fall Of her bright tears. Yet in her father’s hall She had lived almost sorrowless her days; But he felt no affection for the gaze Of his fair girl; and when she fondly smiled, He bade no father’s welcome to the child, But even told his wish, and will’d it done, For her to be sad-hearted—and a nun! And so it was. She took the dreary veil, A hopeless girl! and the bright flush grew pale Upon her cheek; she felt, as summer feels The winds of autumn, and the winter chills That darken his fair suns—it was away, Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathè! The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim, Gray aisle, was heard a solitary tread, As of one musing sadly on the dead— ’Twas Julio. It was his wont to be Often alone within the sanctuary; But now, not so—another: it was she! Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint Before a crucifix; but sad and faint The tone of her devotion, as the trill Of a moss-burden’d melancholy rill. And Julio stood before her;—’twas as yet The hour of the pale twilight—and they met Each other’s gaze, till either seem’d the hue Of deepest crimson; but the ladye threw Her veil above her features, and stole by Like a bright cloud, with sadness and a sigh! Yet Julio still stood gazing and alone, A dreamer!——“is the sister ladye gone?” He started at the silence of the air That slumber’d over him—she is not there.