Page:The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17.djvu/159

 "Why trust," he said, "my foolish eyes? My ear has pierced the fair disguise; &emsp;Who seeks my gold, not me, &emsp;My bride shall never be." The supreme hours unnoted come; Unfelt the turning tides of doom; &emsp;And so the 'maids laughed on, &emsp;Nor dreamed what Fate had done: Nor knew the step was Destiny's That rustled in the birchen trees, &emsp;As, with his life forecast &emsp;Anew, the listener passed. Erelong by lake and rivulet side The summer roses paled and died, &emsp;And Autumn's fingers shed &emsp;The maple's leaves of red. Through the long gold-hazed afternoon, Alone, but for the diving loon, &emsp;The partridge in the brake, &emsp;The black duck on the lake, Beneath the shadow of the ash Sat man and maid by Attitash; &emsp;And earth and air made room &emsp;For human hearts to bloom. Soft spread the carpets of the sod, And scarlet-oak and golden-rod &emsp;With blushes and with smiles &emsp;Lit up the forest aisles. The mellow light the lake aslant, The pebbled margin's ripple-chant &emsp;Attempered and low-toned, &emsp;The tender mystery owned. And through the dream the lovers dreamed Sweet sounds stole in and soft lights streamed; &emsp;The sunshine seemed to bless, &emsp;The air was a caress. Not she who lightly scoffed was there, With jewels in her midnight hair, &emsp;Her dark, disdainful eyes, &emsp;And proud lips worldly-wise; But she who could for love dispense With all its gilded accidents, &emsp;And trust her heart alone, &emsp;Found love and gold her own.