Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/260

Rh But in lonely walks, What time the early violets richly blent Their trembling colours with the vernal green, A student boy, who dwelt among the hills, Taught her of love. There rose an ancient tree, The glory of their rustic garden's bound, Around whose rough circumference of trunk A garden seat was wreathed; and there they sat, Watching gray-vested twilight, as she bore Such gifts of tender and half-utter'd thought As lovers prize. When the thin-blossom'd furze Gave out its autumn-sweetness, and the walls Of that low cot with the red-berried ash Kindled in pride, they parted; he to toil Amid his college tasks, and she to weep. —The precious scrolls, that with his ardent heart So faithfully were tinged, unceasing sought Her hand, and o'er their varied lines to pore Amid his absence, was her chief delight.

—At length they came not. She with sleepless eye, And lip that every morn more bloodless grew, Demanded them in vain. And then the tongue Of a hoarse gossip told her he was dead— Drowned in the deep, and dead. Her young heart died Away at these dread sounds. Her upraised eye Grew large and wild, and never closed again. "Hark! Hark! He calleth! I must hence away!" She murmur'd oft, but faint and fainter still. Nor other word she spake. And so she died.