These scenes of bliss across her memory fled, Like lights that haunt the chambers of the dead, She saw the bower, and read the image there Of joys that had been, and of woes that were; She clench'd her hand in agony, and cast A glance of tears upon it as she past, A look of weeping sorrow--'twas the last! She check'd the gush of feeling, turned her face, And faster sped along her hurried pace. No longer now from Leon's lips were heard The sigh of bliss--the rapture breathing word; No longer now upon his features dwelt The glance that sweetly thrills--the looks that melt; No speaking gaze of fond attachment told, But all was dull and gloomy, sad and cold. Yet he was kind, or laboured to be kind, And strove to hide the workings of his mind; And cloak'd his heart, to soothe his wife's distress, Under a mask of tender gentleness. It was in vain--for ah! how light and frail To love's keen eye is falsehood's gilded veil. Sweet winning words may for a time beguile, Professions lull, and oaths deceive a while; But soon the heart, in vague suspicion tost, Must feel a void unfilled, a something lost; Something scarce heeded, and unprized till gone, Felt while unseen, and, tho' unnoticed, known: A hidden witchery, a nameless charm, Too fine for actions and for words too warm; That passing all the worthless forms of art, Eludes the sense, and only woos the heart: A hallowed spell, by fond affection wove, The mute, but matchless eloquence of love! * * * * * Oh! there were times, when to my heart there came All that the soul can feel, or fancy frame; The summer party in the open air, When sunny eyes and cordial hearts were there; Where light came sparkling thro' the greenwood eaves, Like mirthful eyes that laugh upon the leaves; Where every bush and tree in all the scene, In wind-kiss'd wavings shake their wings of green, And all the objects round about dispense Reviving freshness to the awakened sense; The golden corslet of the humble bee, The antic kid that frolics round the lea; Or purple lance-flies circling round the place, On their light shards of green, an airy race; Or squirrel glancing from the nut-wood shade An arch black eye, half pleas'd and half afraid; Or bird quick darting through the foliage dim, Or perched and twittering on the tendril slim; Or poised in ether sailing slowly on, With plumes that change and glisten in the sun, Like rainbows fading into mist--and then, On the bright cloud renewed and changed again; Or soaring upward, while his full sweet throat Pours clear and strong a pleasure-speaking note; And sings in nature's language wild and free, His song of praise for light and liberty.