And lighted up her brow, and flash'd her eye,
As many that were wandering careless by
Caught but a sound, and paus'd to hear what more
Her lip might utter of its honey store.
She had that sparkling wit which is like light,
Making all things touch'd with its radiance bright;
And a sweet voice, whose words would chain all round,
Although they had no other charm than sound.
And many nam'd her name, and each with praise;
Some with her passionate beauty fill'd their gaze,
Some mark'd her graceful step, and others spoke
Of the so many hearts that own'd the yoke
Of her bewildering smile; meantime, her own
Seem'd as that it no other love had known
Than its sweet love of Nature, music, song,
Which as by right to woman's world belong,
And make it lovely for Love's dwelling place.
Alas! that he should leave his fiery trace!
But this bright creature's brow seem'd all too fair,
Too gay, for Love to be a dweller there;
For Love brings sorrow; yet you might descry
A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye,
A troubled colour on that varying cheek,
A hurry in the tremulous lip to speak,
Avoidance of sad topics, as to shun
Somewhat the spirit dar'd not rest upon;
An unquiet feverishness, a change of place,
A pretty pettishness, if on her face
A look dwelt as in scrutiny to seek
What hidden meanings from its change might break.
[FROM "THE VENETIAN BRACELET."]
The reader will perceive a slight alteration in one of the above lines. It has been made by the pen of the fair writer.
