We crossed the river--I, as in a dream; And when I stood upon the eastern shore, In the full presence of the mountain pile, Strange tides of feeling thrilled me, and I wept-- Wept, though I knew not why. I could have knelt On the white sand, and prayed. Within my soul Prophetic whispers breathed of coming power And new possessions. Aspiration swelled Like a pent stream within a narrow chasm, That finds nor vent nor overflow, but swirls And surges and retreats, until it floods The springs that feed it. All was chaos wild,-- A chaos of fresh passion, undefined, Deep in whose vortices of mist and fire A new world waited blindly for its birth. I had no words for revelation;--none For answer, when my mother pressed my hand, And questioned why it trembled. I looked up With tearful eyes, and met her loving smile, And both of us were silent, and passed on. We reached at length the pleasant cottage-home Where dwelt my mother's friend, and, at the gate, Found her with warmest welcome waiting us. She kissed my mother's cheek, and then kissed mine, Which shrank, and mantled with a new-born shame. They crossed the threshold: I remained without. Surprised--half-angry--with the burning blush That still o'erwhelmed my face. I looked around For something to divert my vexing thoughts, And saw intently gazing in my eyes, From his long tether in the grass, a lamb-- A lusty, downy, handsome, household pet. There was a scarlet ribbon on his neck Which held a silver bell, whose note I heard First when his eye met mine; for then he sprang To greet me with a joyous bleat, and fell, Thrown by the cord that held him. Pitying him, I loosed his cruel leashing, with intent, After a half-hour's frolic, to return And fasten as I found him; but my hand, Too careless of its charge, slipped from its hold With the first bound he made; and with a leap He cleared the garden wall, and flew away. Affrighted at my deed and its mischance, I paused a moment--then with ready feet, And first and final impulse, I pursued. He held the pathway to the mountain woods, The tinkle of his bell already faint In the long distance he had placed between Himself and his pursuer. On and on, Climbing the mountain path, he sped away, I following swiftly, never losing sight Of the bright scarlet streaming from his neck, Or hearing of the tinkle of his bell, Till, wearied both, and panting up the steep, Our progress slackened to a walk.