And Love, who loved her, flew at her sweet will, Bringing all gems that hoard the rainbow’s splendor, And singing-birds with magic in their trill, And what wild-flowers fairy-land could lend her, And flower and bird and jewel all were laid To grace that golden altar in the Shade. Fair was that sylvan solitude I ween— The lady’s charmed and trancéd spirit lent The starlight of its beauty to the scene, And joy and music with the fountain went, While in a still enchantment on its throne The lucid statue cold and stately shone. Love lent her, too, th’ enchanted lute he played And she would let her light hand float at will Across its chords of silver, half afraid, Like a white lily on a murmuring rill, Till Music’s soul, waked by that touch, took wing, And mingling with it hers would soar and sing— “Dost thou see—dost thou feel—oh, mine idol divine, How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine? Dost thou thrill to the tones of my melody sweet? Does it glide to thy _heart_ on its musical feet? Dost thou love the light touch of my hand as I twine My passion-flower wreath for thy beauty benign? “Dost thou know how I’ve gathered all gifts that I own To bless and to brighten the place of thy throne, How my thoughts like young singing-birds flutter and fly With a song for thine ear and a gleam for thine eye, How Truth’s precious gems, that drink sunbeams for wine, Are wreathed into chaplets of light for thy shrine? “How Fancy has woven her fairy-land flowers To garland with odor and beauty thine hours, While Feeling’s pure fountains play softly and free, And chant in their falling ‘For thee! for thee!’ Dost thou feel—dost thou see—oh! mine idol divine, How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine.” Thus sang the lady, but her waking hour Drew near; for when her passionate song was mute, And no fond answer thrilled through that hushed bower Into her listening heart, she laid the lute Within her loved one’s clasp and prayed him play Some idyl sweet to wile the hours away. From his cold hand the lute dropped idly down And broke in music at the false god’s feet; Love’s lute! ah Heaven! how paled the peerless crown Above that brow when with a quick wild beat Of fear and shame and sorrow at her heart, The lady from her dazzling dream did start. And the dream fell beside the broken lute, And the flowers faded in their fairy grace And the fount stopped its glorious play, and mute The birds their light wings shut in that sweet place, While the deep night that veiled the woman’s soul O’er shrine and idol cold and starless stole.