Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/177

Rh

Like fairy gold dropped on the distant hill; That pretty token of remembrance, Forget-me-not, and violets more sweet Than those my hands have planted, lure my steps; I must restrain the impulse—— Why, my love? A snake hath coiled its odious form amid Those blooming wilds. Alas! my dear Giovanni, Since thou hast given shelter to that man, That dark, mysterious Garcia, he who begged A lodging in the woodland hut, so long Untenanted—I dare not stir abroad. Is poverty a crime with thee, Helena? Oh, no: I quarrel with his heavy brow, The sinister malicious looks he casts On thee, my love, when taking from thy hand