Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley, Forman).djvu/15

Rh Of one so lost as Helen. Now Bewildered by my dire despair, Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Should'st love me still,—thou only!—There, Let us sit on that grey stone, Till our mournful talk be done.

Alas! not there; I cannot bear The murmur of this lake to hear. A sound from there, Rosalind dear, Which never yet I heard elsewhere But in our native land, recurs, Even here where now we meet. It stirs Too much of suffocating sorrow! In the dell of yon dark chesnut wood Is a stone seat, a solitude Less like our own. The ghost of peace Will not desert this spot. To-morrow, If thy kind feelings should not cease, We may sit here.

Thou lead, my sweet, And I will follow.

'Tis Fenici's seat Where you are going? This is not the way, Mamma; it leads behind those trees that grow Close to the little river.