She look'd upon that brow so fair and high, Too bright for sorrow as too bold for fear; She look'd upon the depth of that large eye Whence (ev'n when lost to daylight) starry clear Shone earth's sublimest soul;--then tremblingly On his young arm her gentle hand she laid, And in the simple movement more was said Of the weak woman's heart, than ever yet Of that sweet mystery man's rude speech hath told. The touch rebuked him as he thrill'd to it; Back to their deep the stormier passions roll'd, And left his brow (as when the heaven above Smiles through departing cloud) serene with love. "Come then--companion in this path sublime; Link life with life, and strengthen soul with soul; If vain the hope that lights the onward time; If back to darkness fade the phantom goal; If Dreams, that now seem prophet-visions, be Dreams, and no more--still let me cling to thee! Still, seeing thee, have faith in human worth, And feel the Beautiful yet lives for earth! Come, though from marble domes and myrtle bowers, Come, though to lowly roofs and northern skies; In its own fancies Love has regal towers, And orient sunbeams in beloved eyes. Trust me, whatever fate my soul may gall, Thou at thy woman-choice shalt ne'er repine; Trust me, whatever storm on me may fall, This man's true breast shall ward the bolt from thine. Hark, where the bird from yon dark ilex breathes Soul into night,--so be thy love to me! Look, where around the bird the ilex wreathes Still, sheltering boughs,--so be my love to thee! O dweller in my heart, the music thine! And the deep shelter--wilt thou scorn it? mine!" He ceased, and drew her closer to his breast; Soft from the ilex sang the nightingale: Thy heart, O woman, in its happy rest Hush'd a diviner tale! And o'er her bent her lover; and the gold Of his rich locks with her dark tresses blended; And still, and calm, and tenderly, the lone And mellowing night upon their forms descended; And thus, amid the ghostly walls of old, Seen through that silvery, moonlit, lucent air, They seem'd not wholly of an earth-born mould, But suited to the memories breathing there-- Two Genii of the mix'd and tender race, Their charmed homes in lonely coverts singling, Last of their order, doom'd to haunt the place, And bear sweet being interfused and mingling, Draw through their life the same delicious breath, And fade together into air in death. Oh! what then burn'd within her, as her fond And pure lips yearn'd to breathe the enduring vow? All was forgot, save him before her now-- A blank, a non-existence, lay beyond-- All was forgot--all feeling, thought, but this-- For ever parted, or for ever his! The voice just stirs her lip--what sound is there? The cleft stone sighing to the curious air? The night-bird rustling, or the fragment's fall, Soft amid weeds, from Caesar's ruin'd wall?