83 
And then a softer image it supplied, 
For ever bending o’er that crystal tide, 
For ever list’ning to its liquid chime, 
Though all the sounds and sights of summer time 
A sky all glory, and an earth all bloom, 
Gales breathing only music and perfume — 
Seem’d all intent to win its love, but no — 
It mark’d alone that streamlet’s gentle flow. 
Once (’tis long since) when Fancy thus had been 
Framing sweet visions in that leafy scene, 
I took my lyre, and bade each answering chord 
Its silence break, her musings to record. 
I was a mourner then, I wept the dead, 
Yea some I lov’d were not, and I had said — 
Too rashly said ! — that joy would ne’er relume 
A heart whose hopes were buried in the tomb. 
Sad was my lay at first; but as I pour’d 
My feelings forth, my spirit seem’d restor’d 
To wonted calmness, for I thought the while 
On one whose gentle voice and kindly smile 
Were mine, still mine. I touch’d my harp again 
Less sadly than before—and such my strain. 
g 2 
