Thus love and I wore through the winter time. Then saw her demon blush Vesuvius try, Then evil ghosts white from the awful prime, Thrust up sharp peaks to tear the tender sky. 'No more to do but hear that English chime' I to a kinsman wrote. He made reply, 'As home I bring my girl and boy full soon, I pass through Evesham,--meet me there at noon. 'The bells your father loved you needs must hear, Seek Oxford next with me,' and told the day. 'Upon the bridge I'll meet you. What! how dear Soever was a dream, shall it bear sway To mar the waking?' I set forth, drew near, Beheld a goodly tower, twin churches grey, Evesham. The bridge, and noon. I nothing knew What to my heart that fateful chime would do. For suddenly the sweet bells overcame A world unsouled; did all with man endow; His yearning almost tell that passeth name And said they were full old, and they were now And should be; and their sighing upon the same For our poor sake that pass they did avow, While on clear Avon flowed like man's short day The shining river of life lapsing away. The stroke of noon. The bell-bird! yes and no. Winds of remembrance swept as over the foam Of anti-natal shores. At home is it so, My country folk? Ay, 'neath this pale blue dome, Many of you in the moss lie low--lie low. Ah! since I have not HER, give me too, home. A footstep near! I turned; past likelihood, Past hope, before me on the bridge--SHE STOOD. A rosy urchin had her hand; this cried, 'We think you are our cousin--yes, you are; I said so to Estelle.' The violet-eyed, 'If this be Geoffrey?' asked; and as from far A doubt came floating up; but she denied Her thought, yet blushed. O beautiful! my Star! Then, with the lifting of my hat, each wore That look which owned to each, 'We have met before.' Then was the strangest bliss in life made mine; I saw the almost worshipped--all remote; The Star so high above that used to shine, Translated from the void where it did float, And brought into relation with the fine Charities earth hath grown. A great joy smote Me silent, and the child atween us tway, We watched the lucent river stealing away. While her deep eyes down on the ripple fell, Quoth the small imp, '"How fast you go and go, You Avon. Does it wish to stop, Estelle, And hear the clock, and see the orchards blow? _It does not care!_ Not when the old big bell Makes a great buzzing noise?--Who told you so?" And then to me, "I like to hear it hum. Why do you think that father could not come?" Estelle forgot her violin. And he, O then he said: "How careless, child, of you; I must send on for it. 'T would pity be If that were lost. I want to learn it too; And when I'm nine I shall." Then turning, she Let her sweet eyes unveil them to my view; Her stately grace outmatched my dream of old, But ah! the smile dull memory had not told.