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Of those beloved fields she oft
She saw the hereditary bowers,
THE ever-changing Moon had traced Twelve times her monthly round, When through the unfrequented Waste Was heard a startling sound;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased
The fainting creature took the marsh,
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh Above his antlered head;
This Ina saw; and, pale with fear,
Shrunk to her citadel;
The desperate deer rushed on, and near
Across the marsh, the game in view,
Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew
Then, resting on her upright mind,
"From your deportment, Sir! I deem
I might have lain concealed,
"Tears might be shed, and I might pray, Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveiled to-day,
But I will not defile with dust
The knee that bends to adore
"I speak not of the winter's cold,
Nor yet of trouble and alarms;
High Heaven is my defence; And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.
"From Moscow to the Wilderness
And happy were I, if the Czar
To end life here like this poor deer,
"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried, "From Gallic parents sprung, Whose vanishing was rumored wide, Sad theme for every tongue; Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!"
But wonder, pity, soon were quelled;
The soul's pure brightness he beheld
"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
To me the charge hath given.
"Leave open to my wish the course, And I to her will go;
From that humane and heavenly source, Good, only good, can flow."
Faint sanction given, the Cavalier
Though question followed question, dear
Light was his step,-his hopes, more light,
To the lorn Fugitive
The Emperor sent a pledge as strong
O more than mighty change! If e'er
And joy's excess produced a fear
'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned
Soon gratitude gave way to love
In bridal garments drest;
Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast
And there, 'mid many a noble guest,
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.
YES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none find grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
GLAD sight wherever new with old
Is joined through some dear homebörn tie; The life of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.