The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Twas an autumnal day, and now the eve
Walk'd on the western heaven, serene and slow.
His guest now left Sidonia; for his flow
Of tears was calm'd; and wander'd forth to leave

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His own o'erwhelming sadness for a while.
He felt the balminess of evening's smile,
As from the marble terraces he gazed
O'er the smooth, velvet-verdure of the lawn,
Where the tamed pheasant in the sunlight blazed,
Spreading his eye-dropt pinions; and the fawn
And leveret sported round the ancient trees.
The breath of life was in the breathing breeze.
And he was tempted on through thickets deep,
Scatter'd with rills, and knots of forest flowers,
That to his wounded fancy made such bowers,
As he would have to shadow his lone grave.
He heard a low, soft voice,—a gentle step
On the dried leaves—the struggling sunlight gave
A single beam—that shew'd a female form,
Slight, sable-robed, and veil'd,—“Sidonia's child!
Her woes were sacred.”—And the acacias wild,
And the laburnum blossom's yellow swarm,
Soon gave the intruder shelter from her eye,
But kept him bound,—reluctantly, yet nigh.