Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/216



Their path had been a troubled one, each step Had trod 'mid thorns and springs of bitterness; But they had fled away from the cold world, And found, in a fair valley, solitude And happiness in themselves. They oft would rove Through the dark forests when the golden light Of evening was upon the oak, or catch The first wild breath of morning on the hill, And in the hot noon seek some greenwood shade, Filled with the music of the birds, the leaves, Or the descending waters' distant song. And that young maiden hung delightedly Upon her minstrel lover's words, when he Breathed some old melancholy verse, or told Love's ever-varying histories; and her smile Thanked him so tenderly, that he forgot Or thought of but to scorn the flatteries He was so proud of once. I need not say How happy his sweet mistress was.—Oh, all Know love is woman's happiness.

, love! we'll rest us from our wanderings: The violets are fresh among the moss,