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And thought how he should wake them from their dreams— Perchance of him!—of his 's blush! He heard the music of the fountain come— A sweet and welcome voice upon the wind— He bounded on with the light steps of hope, Of youth and happiness. He left the wood, And looked upon—a heap of mingled blood And blackened ashes wet upon the ground!

He was awakened from his agony By the low accents of a woman's voice;— He looked, and knew. She was laid Beside the fountain, while her long black hair Hung like a veil down to her feet: her eyes, So large, so dark, so wild, shone through the gloom,