296 REBECCA S. NICHOLS. [18W-50. And still I sit among the rustling reeds, The plumed flags that rock upon the breeze ; Amid the sands, and shells, and briny weeds, And broken boughs of branching coral trees, The sparkling waifs of dim and distant seas ; — My heart, still wailing that which fled be- fore. Counts its lost moments, as a nun her beads, With eager haste, to pass beyond the shore Where anguished ones may rest, and night returns no more ! THE SHADOW. Twice beside the crumbling well, Where the lichen clingeth fast — Twice the shadow on them fell, And the breeze went wailing past, " Shines the moon this eve, as brightly As the harvest-moon may shine ; Stands each star that glimmers nightly, Like a saint, within its shrine ; Whence the shade, then, whence the shad- ow ? Canst thou tell, sweet lady mine ? " But the lady's cheek was pale. And her lips were marble white. As she clasped her silken vail, Floating in the silver light ; Like an angel's wing it glistened, Like a sybil seemed the maid ; But in vain the lover listened ; Silence on her lips was laid — Though they moved, no sound had broken Through the stillness of the glade. Brighter grew her burning eyes ; Wan and thin the rounded cheek ; Was it terror or surprise. That forbade the lips to speak ? To his heart, then, creeping slowly, Came a strange and deadly fear ; Words and sounds profane, unholy. Stole into his shrinking ear ; And the moon sank sudden downward. Leaving earth and heaven drear ! Slowly from the lady's lips Burst a deep and heavy sigh, As from some long, dark eclipse. Rose the red moon in the sky ; Saw he then the lady kneeling. Cold and fainting by the well ; Eyes, once filled with tender meaning. Closed beneath some hidden spell ; What was heard he dared not whisper, What he feared were death to tell. The little hand was wondrous fair. Which to him so wildly clung ; Raven was the glossy hair From off the snowy forehead flung ; Much too fair, that hand, for staining With a crime of darkest dye : But the moon again is waning In the pale and starless sky ; Hark ! what words are slowly falHng On the breeze that sweeps them by . " Touch her not ! " the voice it said, " Wrench thy mantle from her grasp ; " Thus the disembodied dead Warns from that polluting clasp ; " Touch her not, but still look on her ; All an angel seemeth she ; Yet the guilty stains upon her Shame the fiend's dark company ! But her hideous crime is nameless Under heaven's canopy." Twice beside the crumbling well. Where the lichen clingeth fast ; Twice the shadow on them fell, And the breeze went wailing past ; — Twice the voice's hollow warning, Pierced the haunted midnio;ht air ;
