"Beneath thy beauty's light I glow, As in the sun those grapes of thine: Touch thou my heart with love, and lo! The foaming must is turned to wine!" She, pausing, stayed her careful task, And, lifting eyes of steady ray, Blew, as a wind the mountain's mask Of mist, my cloudy words away. No troubled flush o'erran her cheek; But when her quiet lips did stir, My heart knelt down to hear her speak, And mine the blush I sought in her. "Oh, not for me," she said, "the vow So lightly breathed, to break erelong; The vintage-garland on the brow; The revels of the dancing throng! "To maiden love I shut my heart, Yet none the less a stainless bride; I work alone, I dwell apart, Because my work is sanctified. "A virgin hand must tend the vine, By virgin feet the vat be trod, Whose consecrated gush of wine Becomes the blessed blood of God! "No sinful purple here shall stain, Nor juice profane these grapes afford; But reverent lips their sweetness drain Around the table of the Lord. "The cup I fill, of chaster gold, Upon the lighted altar stands; There, when the gates of heaven unfold, The priest exalts it in his hands. "The censer yields adoring breath, The awful anthem sinks and dies, While God, who suffered life and death, Renews His ancient sacrifice. "O sacred garden of the vine! And blessed she, ordained to press God's chosen vintage, for the wine Of pardon and of holiness!" * * * * * THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. CHAPTER XI. COUSIN RICHARD'S VISIT. The Doctor was roused from his reverie by the clatter of approaching hoofs. He looked forward and saw a young fellow galloping rapidly towards him. A common New-England rider with his toes turned out, his elbows jerking and the daylight showing under him at every step, bestriding a cantering beast of the plebeian breed, thick at every point where he should be thin, and thin at every point where he should be thick, is not one of those noble objects that bewitch the world. The best horsemen outside of the cities are the unshod country-boys, who ride "bare-backed," with only a halter round the horse's neck, digging their brown heels into his ribs, and slanting over backwards, but sticking on like leeches, and taking the hardest trot as if they loved it. This was a different sight on which the Doctor was looking. The streaming mane and tail of the unshorn, savage-looking, black horse, the dashing grace with which the young fellow in the shadowy _sombrero_, and armed with the huge spurs, sat in his high-peaked saddle, could belong only to the mustang of the Pampas and his master. This bold rider was a young man whose sudden apparition in the quiet inland town had reminded some of the good people of a bright, curly-haired boy they had known some eight or ten years before as little Dick Venner.