All nature was a treasury which their hearts Rifled and coin'd in passion; the soft grass, The bee's blue palace in the violet's bell; The sighing leaves which, as the day departs, The light breeze stirreth with a gentle swell; The stiller boughs blent in one emerald mass, Whence, rarely floating liquid Eve along, Some unseen linnet sent its vesper song; All furnish'd them with images and words, And thoughts which spoke not, but lay hush'd like prayer; Their love made life one melody, like birds, And circled earth with its own rosy air. What in that lovely climate doth the breast Interpret not into some sound of love? Canst thou ev'n gaze upon the hues that rest, Like the god's smile, upon the pictured dream Limn'd on mute canvas by the golden Claude, Nor feel thy pulses as to music move?-- Nor feel thy soul by some sweet presence awed? Nor know that presence by its light,--and deem The Landscape breathing with a Voice Divine, "Love, for the land on which ye gaze is mine?" III. But all round them was _life_--the _living_ scene, The real sky, and earth, and wave, and air: The turf on which Egeria's steps had been, The shade, stream, grotto, which had known her care. Still o'er them floated an inspiring breath-- The fragrance and the melody of song-- The legend--glory--verse--that vanquish'd death Still through the orange glades were borne along, And sunk into their souls to swell the hoard Of those rich thoughts the miser Passion stored! IV. But _they_ required no fuel to the flame Which burn'd within them, all undyingly; No scene to steep _their_ passion in romance, No spell from _outward_ nature to enhance The nature at their bosoms: all the same Their love had been if cast upon a rock, And frown'd on from the Arctic's haggard sky. Nay, ev'n the vices and the cares, which move Like waves o'er that foul ocean of dull life, That rolls through cities in a sullen strife With heaven, had raged on them, nor in the shock Crumbled one atom from their base of love. And, like still waters, poesy lay deep Within the hush'd yet haunted soul of each; And the fair moon, and all the stars that steep Heaven's silence and its spirit in delight, Had with that tide a sympathy and speech! For them there was a glory in the night, A whisper in the forest, and the air; Love is the priest of Nature, and can teach A world of mystery to the few that share, With self-devoted faith, the winged Flamen's care. V.