THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING.
17
Her dark eyes gleamed with the intensity
Of strange, unspoken griefs, and in their calm,
Mysterious fixedness there seemed a high,
And deep, and stern resolve, as though her heart
Of iron pride might never quail beneath
Life's fiercest storms. Yet when she turned those orbs
To his, a gentle, melancholy smile
Played round their lids, and quivering tear-drops hung,
Like the bright gems of dewy morning, o'er
Their dark and stormy depths.
Of strange, unspoken griefs, and in their calm,
Mysterious fixedness there seemed a high,
And deep, and stern resolve, as though her heart
Of iron pride might never quail beneath
Life's fiercest storms. Yet when she turned those orbs
To his, a gentle, melancholy smile
Played round their lids, and quivering tear-drops hung,
Like the bright gems of dewy morning, o'er
Their dark and stormy depths.
And he on whom
Her glance of love fell, piercing his deep soul,
His soul of strong and manly daring, stood
All tearfully beside her, and his arm
Around her slender form was wildly flung,
Love's living, burning cestus; and her head,
With all its clustering wealth of raven curls,
Drooped to his heaving bosom, as a dove,
Weary and broken wing'd, sinks to its own
Dear parent nest. Her little trembling hand
Her glance of love fell, piercing his deep soul,
His soul of strong and manly daring, stood
All tearfully beside her, and his arm
Around her slender form was wildly flung,
Love's living, burning cestus; and her head,
With all its clustering wealth of raven curls,
Drooped to his heaving bosom, as a dove,
Weary and broken wing'd, sinks to its own
Dear parent nest. Her little trembling hand
