One whose aid her thanks must own Asks not gratitude alone: Whispered words have soothed her fears, Loving hand shall dry her tears; Spring with all its visions tender Shall to summer-joys surrender, Hope who erst would dream apart Yield to love the virgin heart, Grateful tears no more be paid Where the milky roses fade, But the thoughts she cannot speak Shall unbidden dye her cheek, When their emblem she bestows, Gives her knight the crimson rose. [Illustration] [Illustration] Yet another champion stood By the maiden in the wood, Slew the foe, but, wounded sore Saw her for awhile no more. When he met her glance again Was it joy or was it pain? Joy her yielded hand to press, Joy to hear her voice confess He had helped her in distress, Joy to see her eye bedewed With a friend's solicitude, Pain which would not be denied For she was another's bride! "Can I bear? He is fond But unworthy of her-- The pleasures beyond Can his light spirit stir; Gay song, foolish story Can lead him astray, Vain glamour of glory Entice him away. "Must I speak? She is blind Be his faults what they will To her he is kind. Let me watch and be still: Her children beguiling Each hour as it flies, The world ever smiling, Untroubled her skies. "Shall I fly? If I would She might look e'en on me; She is true, she is good, Yet I cannot but see Some moment unwary Might bring back again That thought---- Ah! kind fairy, Is true love all pain?" Comes again the eventide: Happy wife as happy bride, Happy mother, she has dwelt, Pain unknown and grief unfelt Till her lord to rest was laid. Now in mourning weeds arrayed She has sought the fairy spring; Hears once more its murmuring, Sees once more the bees assemble There the honeysuckles tremble, Sees the armoured dragon-fly And the kingfisher dart by, Sees the blue forget-me-not Cluster in the shielded spot, Sees forsooth, with brimming eyes, Children of the earth and skies; Nothing harmful dares to roam Near the fairy-haunted home. "Fairy, he has gone to rest, His the perfect love and best!" Answered her the water's swell, "Not the best--he loved thee well." Wondering even in her tears Fly her thoughts through bygone years-- "He who lay 'neath roses white, Was he then the perfect knight?" Came the answer soft and clear, "Not the best--he held thee dear." "Then, as thou didst promise, tell me How that fairest fate befell me." "Didst thou mark--a flame his crest-- Him who moved among the rest, Yet no word of love addressed? Him who, wounded for thy sake, Scarce would thanks in guerdon take-- Speechless, though his heart might break.