The river ran between them, And she smiled upon the stream, Like one that smiles at folly-- A dreamer on a dream. 'I do not trust your promise, I will not be betrayed; For your faith is light, And your cold wit bright, Like the white plume in your hat, And your shining blade.' The river ran between them, And he rode beside the stream, And he turned away and parted, As a dreamer from his dream. And his comrade brought his message, From the field where he was laid-- Just his name to repeat, And to lay at her feet The white plume from his hat And his shining blade.[1] And he sang it in a tuneful and plaintive tenor, that had power to make rude and ridiculous things pathetic; and Aunt Rebecca thought he was altogether very agreeable. But it was time she should see what Miss Gertrude was about; and Devereux and Lily were such very old friends that she left them to their devices. 'I like the river,' says he; 'it has a soul, Miss Lily, and a character. There are no river _gods_, but nymphs. Look at that river, Miss Lilias; what a girlish spirit. I wish she would reveal herself; I could lose my heart to her, I believe--if, indeed, I could be in love with anything, you know. Look at the river--is not it feminine? it's sad and it's merry, musical and sparkling--and oh, so deep! Always changing, yet still the same. 'Twill show you the trees, or the clouds, or yourself, or the stars; and it's so clear and so dark, and so sunny, and--so cold. It tells everything, and yet nothing. It's so pure, and so playful, and so tuneful, and so coy, yet so mysterious and _fatal_. I sometimes think, Miss Lilias, I've seen this river spirit; and she's like--very like you!'