Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/171

Rh

Nay, now you mock me— I dare not, Helen, pretty, pouting girl— What must I say, what do to be forgiven? Thou know'st I love to kiss away thy tears, Yet would not cause them for the wealth of worlds. Thine eye is moist, thy cheek is deadly pale, Thou art not well, and I have grieved thee, sweet. Come, come and rest thee in my arms; thy young And innocent heart hath felt no deeper ills Than those that love's soft, soothing, melting voice, Can charm away. I've had a frightful dream.— Methought we stood upon a mountain's brow, And watched the sinking sun-beams; all below Was calm and sweet, a smooth unruffled sea; The golden orb sunk down; from out the sky Flashed forth effulgent planets: we were near,