Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/198

192

The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is pass'd, The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. Thou'rt faint and worn—hear'st thou the fountain welling By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine? Seest thou the dewy grapes, before thee swelling? —He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine!

He was a child when thus the bower he wove, (Oh! hath a day fled since his childhood's time?) That I might sit and hear the sound I love, Beneath its shade—the convent's vesper-chime. And sit thou there!—for he was gentle ever, With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee, And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips' fever— There in his place thou'rt resting—where is he?

If I could hear that laughing voice again, But once again!—how oft it wanders by, In the still hours, like some remember'd strain, Troubling the heart with its wild melody! —Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen In that far land, the chosen land of yore, A youth—my Guido—with the fiery mien, And the dark eye of this Italian shore?