CHAPTER VIII.
DOUBTS.
Ask me not, love, what may be in my heart
When, gazing on thee, sudden teardrops start;
When only joy should come where'er thou art.
The human heart is compassed with fears;
And joy is tremulous, for it enspheres
An earth-born star, which melts away in tears.
I am too happy for a careless mirth—
Hence anxious thoughts, and sorrowful, have birth;
Who looks from heaven, is half returned to earth.
How powerless is my fond anxiety!
I feel I could lay down my life for thee,
Yet feel how vain such sacrifice might be.
Hence do I tremble in my happiness;
Hurried and dim the unknown hours press:
I question of a past I dare not guess.
Lord Norbourne was right in supposing that the illness of his daughter arose from the
