"Thus vision after vision flew, Leaving again before my view That [Errata: The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd, To which that heart had never bow'd, Whose tenderness I hourly fed; While thus I to its nursling said;-- "Be silent, _Love!_ nor from my lip In faint or hurried language speak! Be motionless within my eye, And never wander to my cheek! Retir'd and passive thou must be, Or truly I shall banish thee! "Thou art a restless, wayward sprite, So young, so tender, and so fair, I dare not trust thee from my sight, Nor let thee breathe the common air! Home to my heart, then, quickly flee, It is the only place for thee! "And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell, For I will whisper in thine ear Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell, Which it may please thee best to hear! I will not, may not, set thee free-- I die if aught discover thee!" Where are the plaudits, warm and long, That erst have follow'd Marie's song? The full assenting, sudden, loud, The buz of pleasure in the crowd! The harp was still, but silence reign'd, Listening as if she still complain'd: For Pity threw her gentle yoke Across Impatience, ere he spoke; And Thought, in pondering o'er her strains, Had that cold state he oft maintains. But soon the silence seem'd to say, "Fair mourner, reassume thy lay!" And in the chords her fingers stray'd; For aching Memory found relief In mounting to the source of grief; A tender symphony she play'd, Then bow'd, and thus, unask'd, obey'd. The Lay of Marie _CANTO THIRD._ "Careless alike who went or came, I seldom ask'd the stranger's name, When such a being came in view As eagerly the question drew. 'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried, 'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride, His richest ward the king's behest Gives to the bravest and the best.' "Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear, Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear. My eye was quiet, and the while My lip maintain'd a steady smile. It cost me much, alas! to feign; But while I struggled with the pain, With beauty stole upon my sight An inward feeling of delight.