The strain is o’er—ere Deloraine speaks, Bright blushes mount to Mary’s cheeks, For well she guesses, by his sigh, He would the minstrel’s lay apply; And, aided by another’s art, Reveal the secret of his heart. But Modesty, her guardian, throws Its ægis round her—grave she grows, As quick her head is turned aside, Her cheek’s deep rosy blush to hide. Still looked he earnest—still he sought In her mild eyes to read her thought, If her heart’s inmost folds among There lurked kind answer to that song. And still she feared to meet his eye, Lest her confusion he should spy; For yet, though softened, charmed, and moved, She only _hopes_ she is beloved! And, self-accusing, thinks it wrong To give such meaning to a song: Thus, he all fear, and she all shame, He breathes no word to tell his flame. At length her mother she descried, Then flew, half-fluttered, to her side! For Crœsus’ wealth he should not know The fancies which disturbed her so, While all the firmer chained was he, By her young timid modesty. O Modesty!—which angels yield To helpless woman for a shield, What diamond from Golconda’s mine, Adorns her brow, like blush of thine? Worthless the form, and coarse the face, (However fair) thou dost not grace; The sweetest voice is like a lute Strung with harsh chords, when thou art mute; The heart, a stained and ruined shrine, Thou dost not enter to refine; The eye but shoots a meteor gleam Noxious and keen, without thy beam; How vainly beauty, lacking thee, Would chain men’s love—Sweet Modesty! Cestus that Venus surely wore, To wile a world in days of yore, The charm that she to Juno lent, When that bold, dark-eyed Queen was bent To win the recreant from her love, The haughty and inconstant Jove: Bright spirit! thou in Mary’s eye Smilest when she bids Deloraine good-by! And—fairy follower—at her call, Attend’st her from that festival! Mary’s at home—and pondering o’er Each word of _his_, as ne’er before She dwelt on them. His looks of love, Even now recalled, have power to move, Of his sweet voice each cherished tone, } Fond Memory has made its own, } So dear, and so familiar grown } Some little thought of earthly cares Are mingled with her fervent prayers, Hopes that they soon again shall meet, Before she yields to slumber sweet As falls on infant’s brow, ere guile Hath chased its Heaven-remembering smile! Then white-robed Innocence doth bend, And o’er her couch its wings extend. Visions of love and happiness, Soothing and calm, her pillow bless; Nor purer dreams the blessed know, Released from earth and all its wo.