LINDA TO HAFED

FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS."

"How sweetly," said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that moonlight flood,—
"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle!
Oft in my fancy's wanderings,
I've wished that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,

Were wafted off to seas unknown,
Where not a pulse should beat but ours,

And we might live, love, die alone!
Far from the cruel and the cold,—

Where the bright eyes of angels only
Should come around us, to behold

A paradise so pure and lonely!
Would this be world enough for thee?"—
Playful she turned, that he might see

The passing smile her cheek put on;
But when she marked how mournfully

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone;
And, bursting into heartfelt tears,
"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears,
My dreams, have boded all too right,—
We part—forever part—to-night!
I knew, I knew it could not last,—
'T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past!
O, ever thus, from childhood's hour,

I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower

But 't was the first to fade away.
I never nursed a dear gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,

And love me, it was sure to die!
Now, too, the joy most like divine

Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,—

O misery! must I lose that too?"


THOMAS MOORE