Betray'd no secret that could rouse his fears-- For joy, as grief, the tender heart will melt-- The tears but proved how well his love was felt. And, with the delicate thought that shunn'd to hear Thanks for the cares, which cares themselves endear, He whisper'd, "Linger not!" and closed the door, And Constance sobbed--"Thank Heaven, alone with thee once more!" VII. Across his threshold Ruthven lightly strode, And his glad heart from its full deeps o'erflow'd, Pass'd is the Porch--he gains the balmy air, Still crouch the night winds in their forest lair. The moonlight silvers the unrustling pines, On the hush'd lake the tremulous glory shines. A stately shadow o'er the crystal brink, Reflects the shy stag as its halt to drink; And the slow cygnet, where it midway glides, Breaks into sparkling rings the faintly heaving tides. Wandering along his boyhood's haunts, he mused; The hour, the heaven, the bliss his soul suffused; It seem'd all hatred from the world had flown, And left to Nature, Love and God alone! Ev'n holiest passion holier render'd there, His every thought breathed gentle as a prayer. VIII. Thus, as the eve grew mellowing into night, Still from yon lattice stream'd the unwelcome light-- "Why loitering yet, and wherefore linger I?" And at that thought ev'n Nature pall'd his eye; He miss'd that voice, which with low music fill'd The starry heaven of the rapt thoughts it thrill'd; He gain'd the hall--the lofty stair he wound-- Behold, the door of his heart's fairy-ground! The tapestry veil'd him, as its folds, half-raised, Gave to his eye the scene on which it gazed: Still Constance wept--and hark what sounds are those What awful secret those wild sobs disclose!-- "No, leave me not!--I cannot meet his eyes! O Heaven! must life be ever one disguise! What seem'd indifference when we pledged the troth, Now grown--O wretch!--to terrors that but loathe! Oh that the earth might swallow me!" Again Gush forth the sobs, while Juliet soothes in vain. "Nay, nay, be cheer'd--we must not more delay; Cease these wild bursts till I his steps can stay; No, for thy sake--for thine--I must begone." She 'scaped the circling arms, and Constance wept alone. IX.