Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/198

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In the deep twilight, as it gathered 'round,
Adel stood where he left her, with her hands
Pressed tight upon her heart, and murmuring
In one same accent low, "'Tis o'er—'tis o'er!"
And from that hour she gathered up her strength,
And grew more lofty and more beautiful,
With all her pride of genius and of soul.
She trusted not the world, nor hated it;
But wnth a peerless manner, and a brow
Like snow in coldness and in purity,
She walked amid its throngs, confiding not,
But loved and wondered at for starry gifts—
A marble casket, exquisitely fair,
With priceless jewels glittering therein!
At times she swept her lyre with hand divine,
And eagerly the world listed the strains
Thrilling its heart with their rare eloquence—
So sweet, and soft, and passionate, and full;
And through the fineness of each delicate note
A finer tone lingered on the 'tranced ear—
A music mournfully and softly strange,
Like a faint dirge played upon higher keys.
Or tear-drops falling on the spirit's wires.

Have you ne'er seen a palace grand and high,
And decked within by many costly things?
Pictures of beauty and bright burning lamps,
And books of wisdom, and sweet, pleasant flowers.
And many tall, fair mirrors, giving back
A thousand times the splendor that they saw?
Like such a palace was proud Clarence Vane
Before he met his beautiful Adel.
But the fair habitants who should have been
Within so bright a dwelling, had gone out,
And lowly slaves were rioting within.
Virtue and Peace, and Truth and Eloquence
Were frighted from its chambers—even Pride
And stern Ambition fled the revelry