“But here ye live,—ye bloom,—in each dear face, The changing hand of time I may not blame; For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace, And here of beauty perfected the frame: And well I know your hearts are still the same— They could not change—ye look the very way, As when an orphan first to you I came. And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray? Nay, wherefore weep ye, friends, on such a joyous day?” XXII. “And art thou here? or is it but a dream? And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou, leave us more?”— “No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem Than aught on earth—than e’en thyself of yore— I will not part thee from thy father’s shore; But we shall cherish him with mutual arms, And hand in hand again the path explore, Which every ray of young remembrance warms, While thou shalt be my own, with all thy truth and charms!” XXIII. At morn, as if beneath a galaxy Of over-arching groves in blossoms white, Where all was odorous scent and harmony, And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: There, if, oh, gentle Love! I read aright The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond, ’Twas listening to these accents of delight, She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond Expression’s power to paint, all languishingly fond— XXIV. “Flower of my life, so lovely, and so lone! Whom I would rather in this desert meet, Scorning, and scorned by fortune’s power, than own Her pomp and splendours lavished at my feet! Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite Than odours cast on heaven’s own shrine—to please— Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze, When Coromandel’s ships return from Indian seas.” XXV. Then would that home admit them—happier far Than grandeur’s most magnificent saloon, While, here and there, a solitary star Flushed in the darkening firmament of June, And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon Ineffable, which I may not portray; For never did the hymenean moon A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray. [45] It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who have been buried for upwards of a century. [46] The bridges over narrow streams in many parts of Spanish America are said to be built of cane, which, however strong to support the passenger, are yet waved in the agitation of the storm, and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and picturesque scenery. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. PART III. I.