All heaven he felt was in her eye; Its sunshine glistened in her glance; The air he breathed was elfin air; His soul was in a trance: “Ah, spirit of some virgin saint, Turn—turn those blesséd eyes on me, And let me kneel and worship thee!” Deliriously said he. She raised her eyes, her maiden cheek Mounting the crimson tinge of dawn, And, looking timidly around, Stood, like a startled fawn. “Nay, do not fly,” exclaimed the youth; “Remain; allow my thirsty eyes To quaff thy beauty: I would drain A draught of Paradise.” Wonder awaking in her face, The maiden stood, with lips apart, Drinking his voice, whose cadence stole In harmony to her heart. And even as she stood he came, And, kneeling, bade her fear no wrong; While all the while the murmuring air Moved musical with song. His words were not as other’s words, His voice was like no other voice, Somehow, she knew not why, it made Her maiden heart rejoice. And from that moment all things grew Lovelier with light, because of him, And, like a cup of wine, her heart Was crimson to the brim. “What shall I call thee?” asked the maid; “How name thee?” “Clarence is my name,” Returned the youth—“an honest one, Though all unknown to fame. “And how shall I call thee?” quoth he. “Florence,” replied the maid—“a mean And humble village girl.” “But fit,” Said he, “to be a queen!” Day after day, at eventide, The stranger sought her, breathing words Of passion, while her timid heart Beat like a frightened bird’s. But not with fear, for every pulse Was swayed by love, that, moon-like, rides The empyrean of the adoring heart And rules its purple tides. PART II. Merrily through the town they went A proud, chivalric cavalcade Of knights and nobles and esquires, In silken robes arrayed. And each sustained his high degree, But foremost there, without a peer In manly majesty of mien, Rode Lionel De Vere. The ostrich plumes which flowed and waved In silver clouds above his brow, Were gray and lustreless beside That forehead’s dazzling snow.