THE BUIDAV OF MAWORTII. 53 



And not a word, or look, or whisper'd tone, 



Of his, assures her he is still her own : 



And scarce forbears he why she cannot tell, 



To half avert the face she loves so well ; 



She kneels before him, and her glance is rais'd 



To meet his own, as thoughtful down it gaz'd ; 



And o'er his brows her snowy fingers play, 



Like sunbeams chasing darkest clouds away : 



What ! still no smile ! Oh, thou some grief hast got, 



Too long conceal'd, since Ada knows it not ; 



But I must know it dars't thou to refuse, 



Thou shalt not come thy own thy Ada sues. 



In vain : whate'er his gloominess of heart, 



It haunts him still, nor will again depart. 



She rose one moment viewed him as he sate, 



She could no more her heart was desolate ; 



Fast beat that heart, and quicker moved that breast, 



Nor heeded more, whose much-lov'd hands caressed, 



But in her robes she hid her deep distress, 



And sobb'd aloud her bosom's bitterness. 



" Ada ! my own lov'd Ada ! " but her grief 



Flows uncontrolled, nor will admit relief, 



And fades to paleness now the rosy hue 



Which late o'er face and heaving bosom flew, 



And o'er her bends, with anguish on his brow, 



The gloomy chief, her anxious lover now : 



" My love my Ada dearest Oh, forgive 



The sullen gloom which thus could make thee grieve. 



So much these bold marauders have perplex'd 



My hours of late, my harassed soul was vex'd, 



And brooding how to rid me of the pest, 



I scarce remembered I was Ada's guest. 



Oh ! Speak ! I would thy tongue had learn'd to chide, 



That I might sit in penance by thy side. 



Nay, cease to weep ! my soul's solicitude 



Would make atonement for an act so rude. 



Thou know'st, my love, how prone I yet have been 



To hear the sadder voice of every scene ; 



Full oft thy playful fondness has beguiled 



Thoughts dark as these, till grief in mirth has smiled ; 



And thou hast said, when such my mood of yore, 



My melancholy made thee love me more. 



My heart, like some dark rock, hath stood alone, 



Thou the pale flower beneath its shadow grown, 



The only verdure on a spot so bare, 



But oh ! how loved by him who finds thee there : 



'Tis strange such tender purity should cling 



To the drear rock, which chills each hardier thing. 



Oh ! smile ! it were the darkest of my doom, 



To blast thy fair young beauties with my gloom." 



He rais'd her drooping form their mutual glance 



Is beaming gladness in its happy trance. 



Away, away, dark world of fears and cares, 



Nor mar the one blest moment which is theirs. 



And Ada smiles again like some bright stream 

 When fled the cloud which had obscured the beam : 



