Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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Lucile | ||
XXIV.
And meanwhile a world had been changed in its place,And those glittering chains that o'er blue balmy space
Hang the blessing of darkness, had drawn out of sight,
To solace unseen hemispheres, the soft night;
And the dew of the dayspring benignly descended,
And the fair morn to all things new sanction extended,
In the smile of the East. And the lark soaring on,
Lost in light, shook the dawn with a song from the sun.
And the world laugh'd.
It wanted but two rosy hours
From the noon, when they pass'd through the tall passion-flowers
Of the little wild garden that dimpled before
The small house where their carriage now stopp'd, at Bigorre.
And more fair than the flowers, more fresh than the dew,
With her white morning robe flitting joyously through
The dark shrubs with which the soft hill-side was clothed,
Alfred Vargrave perceived, where he paused, his betrothed.
Matilda sprang to him, at once, with a face
Of such sunny sweetness, such gladness, such grace,
And radiant confidence, childlike delight,
That his whole heart upbraided itself at that sight.
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‘From this sweet child, or suffer'd in aught to invade
‘Her young claim on my life, though it were for an hour,
‘The thought of another?’
‘Look up, my sweet flower!’
He whisper'd her softly, ‘my heart unto thee
‘Is return'd, as returns to the rose the wild bee!’
‘And will wander no more?’ laugh'd Matilda.
‘No more,’
He repeated. And, low to himself, ‘Yes, 'tis o'er!
‘My course, too, is decided, Lucile! Was I blind
‘To have dream'd that these clever Frenchwomen of mind
‘Could satisfy simply a plain English heart,
‘Or sympathise with it?’
Lucile | ||