Page:The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17.djvu/159

"Why trust," he said, "my foolish eyes?
My ear has pierced the fair disguise;
 Who seeks my gold, not me,
 My bride shall never be."

The supreme hours unnoted come;
Unfelt the turning tides of doom;
 And so the 'maids laughed on,
 Nor dreamed what Fate had done:

Nor knew the step was Destiny's
That rustled in the birchen trees,
 As, with his life forecast
 Anew, the listener passed.

Erelong by lake and rivulet side
The summer roses paled and died,
 And Autumn's fingers shed
 The maple's leaves of red.

Through the long gold-hazed afternoon,
Alone, but for the diving loon,
 The partridge in the brake,
 The black duck on the lake,

Beneath the shadow of the ash
Sat man and maid by Attitash;
 And earth and air made room
 For human hearts to bloom.

Soft spread the carpets of the sod,
And scarlet-oak and golden-rod
 With blushes and with smiles
 Lit up the forest aisles.

The mellow light the lake aslant,
The pebbled margin's ripple-chant
 Attempered and low-toned,
 The tender mystery owned.

And through the dream the lovers dreamed
Sweet sounds stole in and soft lights streamed;
 The sunshine seemed to bless,
 The air was a caress.

Not she who lightly scoffed was there,
With jewels in her midnight hair,
 Her dark, disdainful eyes,
 And proud lips worldly-wise;

But she who could for love dispense
With all its gilded accidents,
 And trust her heart alone,
 Found love and gold her own.