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Poems

by T. Westwood

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TO MARGARET.
  
  
  


181

TO MARGARET.

“Why Love himself
Doth kneel in worship at her beauty's shrine,—
How shouldst thou 'scape uncaptured?”
The Pearl of Florence.

Last night, I had a pleasant dream—
Methought on a green bank I lay,
Watching the bright sunbeams play
On the bosom of a stream;
All the air was fill'd with sound,
All rich odours floated round;
Beauty peer'd with smiling face,
From each nook in that sweet place—
Had'st thou been there,
With thy form of fawn-like grace,
'Twould have been a scene as fair,
As Boccaccio's gardens were.

182

Rapidly the sunny hours
Hurried onward in their flight;
Fainter grew the golden light
In those leaf-enwoven bowers—
When adown the rippling river,
Arm'd with arrow, bow, and quiver
Floating in a wreathëd shell
Came a sprite I knew too well—
Hadst thou been by,
To have seen what there befell,
Mirth and wonder in thine eye
Would have fought for mastery.
When the urchin reach'd the bank
Where conceal'd in shade I lay,
Down, the fairy bark straightway
Through the pearly waters sank,
While, with weapons round him slung,
Forth the tiny archer sprung,

183

And away was hurrying,
When I pluck'd him by the wing;
Hadst thou been there,
To have seen the startled thing,
His dismay for ever after,
Would have been a theme for laughter.
As he twisted to and fro,
Pale with fright, and weeping sore,
He protested, o'er and o'er,
That if I would let him go,
With a secret he'd reward me,
Some strong spell that aye would guard me,
So that from that happy hour,
I should never dread love's power.—
Hadst thou been there,
'Twould have made the urchin cower,
Ere he trusted to my care
What might free me from thy snare.

184

But at last when weary grown,
I agreed to set him free,
If he would confess to me,
The name of her, that fairest one,
In whose breast confidingly,
The little sprite most lov'd to lie;
O'erjoy'd at this, without delay,
Whisp'ring the name, he tripp'd away.
Hadst thou been by,
To have heard the cunning fay,
I can guess thy soft blue eye
Would have flash'd triumphantly.
'Twas a name thou'lt ne'er forget,—
Ev'n thine own, fair Margaret!