Of such wild sweetness that it almost seemed
The breath of flowers made audible.—They told,
In long departed days, when every grove
Was filled with beautiful imaginings
And visioned creations, that a Nymph
Once pined with unrequited love, and sighed
Away her sad existence. I could think
She left her last tone softly giving soul
To the sad of that lonely lyre;
Or else, perchance, the spirit of some Bard,
Whose life in life was music, wander'd o'er
The chords which once with him held sympathy,
Like him neglected, but sweet breathing still! - -
- - Why dwell I on these memories? Alas,
The heart loves lingering o'er the shadows left
By joys departed.—'Twas one summer night,
And our brief hour had pass'd; I know not why,
But my soul felt disquieted within me,
And the next evening, when I sought the grove,
I had a strange foreboding sadness—none
Were there to welcome me, no silvery trace
Of fairy footsteps was upon the grass:
I waited long and anxiously—none came—
I wandered on; it was not in the hope
To meet my Rosalie; but it was sweet
To look upon the stars, and think that they
Had witnessed our love. At once a sound
Of music slowly rose, a sad low chant
Of maiden voices, and a faint light streamed
From out the windows of a chapel near;
I knew it well—'twas the shrine sacred to
Her patron saint, and Rosalie had said,
If ever I might claim her as my bride
Before the face of heaven, that altar should
Be where our vows were given. I entered in,
And heard a sound of weeping, and saw shapes
Bent down in anguish: in the midst a bier
Was covered o'er with flowers—sad offerings made
The dead, in vain — and one lay sleeping there,
Whose face was veiled;—I could not speak nor ask,
My heart was wild with fear,—I lifted up
The long white veil,—I looked on the pale cheek
Of my so worshipped Rosalie!L. E. L.
