I struggle towards the light; but oh,
While yet the night is chill,
Upon time's barren, stormy flow,
Stay with me, Marguerite, still!
VII. THE TERRACE AT BERNE.
(COMPOSED TEN YEARS AFTER THE PRECEDING.)
Ten years! and to my waking eye
Once more the roofs of Berne appear;
The rocky banks, the terrace high,
The stream! and do I linger here?
The clouds are on the Oberland,
The Jungfrau snows look faint and far;
But bright are those green fields at hand,
And through those fields comes down the Aar,
And from the blue twin-lakes it comes,
Flows by the town, the churchyard fair;
And 'neath the garden-walk it hums,
The house! and is my Marguerite there
Ah! shall I see thee, while a flush
Of startled pleasure floods thy brow,
Quick through the oleanders brush,
And clap thy hands, and cry, 'Tis thou!
Or hast thou long since wandered back,
Daughter of France! to France, thy home
And flitted down the flowery track
Where feet like thine too lightly come?
Doth riotous laughter now replace
Thy smile, and rouge, with stony glare,
Thy cheek's soft hue, and fluttering lace
The kerchief that inwound thy hair?
