This gossip, if old Walter heard, He checked it with a scornful word: I never durst such tales repeat; He was too serious and discreet To speak of what his lord might do; Besides, he loved my lady too. And many a time, I recollect, They were together in the wood; He, with an air of grave respect, And earnest look, uncovered stood. And though their speech I never heard, (Save now and then a louder word,) I saw he spake as none but one She loved and trusted, durst have done; For oft I watched them in the shade That the close forest branches made, Till slanting golden sunbeams came And smote the fir-trees into flame, A radiant glory round her lit, Then down her white robes seemed to flit, Gilding the brown leaves on the ground, And all the waving ferns around. While by some gloomy pine she leant And he in earnest talk would stand, I saw the tear-drops, as she bent, Fall on the flowers in her hand.-- Strange as it seemed and seems to be, That one so sad, so cold as she, Could love a little child like me-- Yet so it was. I never heard Such tender words as she would say, And murmurs, sweeter than a word, Would breathe upon me as I lay. While I, in smiling joy, would rest, For hours, my head upon her breast. Our neighbours said that none could see In me the common childish charms, (So grave and still I used to be,) And yet she held me in her arms, In a fond clasp, so close, so tight-- I often dream of it at night. She bade me tell her all--no other My childish thoughts e'er cared to know: For I--I never knew my mother; I was an orphan long ago. And I could all my fancies pour, That gentle loving face before. She liked to hear me tell her all; How that day I had climbed the tree, To make the largest fir-cones fall; And how one day I hoped to be A sailor on the deep blue sea-- She loved to hear it all!