16. XVI.
When he reached the dwelling of Adoniakim, he was
told by the porter, who was in his pay, that Melchior was
even at that moment in the private apartment of his father.
The design of his mind was strengthened by this
intelligence. His decision was immediate; and he was
only too ready to put his plan in execution to scruple at
the impropriety or the difficulties which were yet before
him.
“Bring me another garment—a disguise, which shall
conceal me quite,” he said, to a favourite attendant. In
a few moments he had altered his whole appearance.
He then sallied forth without seeking his father or Melchior,
or suffering them to know that he was at hand.
His thought was full only of the image of the lovely
Thyrza. The warm fancy had superseded every thing
in his mind, unless it breathed of her.
“She is in the dwelling of Barzelius. 'Twas thence
my father came at morning. He thought to have deceived
me—the old fool! He little knows how close a
watch I keep on all his movements.”
He hurried on through the deepest haunts of the Hebrew
Quarter, till he came near the dwelling of Barzelius.
He then paused, and arranged his farther progress in his
mind before proceeding upon it. He anticipated some
difficulty in entering the dwelling in which Melchior had
taken up his retreat, but trusted to his own ingenuity to
carry him through successfully. Nor did he rely too
much upon himself. He succeeded, after some effort,
in procuring admission, and his way now lay through
certain intricate chambers of the dwelling; though he
was bewildered, and knew not in what direction to turn
in order to find the apartment of her he sought. While
he paused, the sound of a sweet voice, linking itself
naturally with the rich tones of the harp, came suddenly
upon his senses, sweet, soft, and delicious, as an evening
zephyr floating through the precious gardens of Yemen,
bringing music to their flowers, and taking in return
their tribute of perfume. The strain ravished his senses,
and he lingered on the spot where he first heard it, even
to its conclusion. The words were sweet to his ears,
though the sense seemed singular and foreign—because
he knew not yet of the native hopelessness of the true
love, and he could conceive of no reason why Thyrza
should repine and doubt. The song was evidently
hers—who else, that he knew, could make so sweet a
harmony?
THYRZA'S SONG.
I.
If thou wert in the desert, oh, my heart,
Watching its stars, and watching them alone,
Thou wert far happier than even now thou art,
Watching but one!
II.
What though it be the loveliest to thine eye,
The desert yields to thee a better sign,
Since, of its millions shining in the sky,
One must be thine!
III.
Yet 'tis not less thy joy and happiness,
Hopeless, to watch that single glory on,
Without one cloud to make its lustre less—
Till life be gone!
IV.
Let the life go—be the poor heart denied,
An humble, hopleess worshipper afar—
'Tis still a joy that love has deified
So pure a star!
