 | Young Arthur |  |
185
Darted her eyes through the citron shade;
And she saw the youth, and her gaze he saw,
And sympathy broke the tyrant law
Of fear; and within the grove they met,
The time was precious, the moment set
When she to the haram must return;
Time had no license for hope to learn
The tale of sorrow each long'd to know,
But that moment of meeting was balm to woe.
Here Fatima's voice—and 'twas music—was heard,
But to them 'twas the scream of th' ill-omen'd bird;
Their eyes told their sorrow, and instant she flew,
But whisper'd, departing, “To-morrow—adieu!”
While Allan as swiftly retir'd to the grove;—
So two timid fawns that have stray'd from the drove,
If a bush chance to rustle, or breeze roughly play,
Start, fly, and are gone through the first friendly way.
| Young Arthur | |