University of Virginia Library

One day, when the bushes were white in the lanes, and the bees were astir
In the blooms of the apple-trees, and the green woods ringing with birds,
Lionel asked Lucille to walk with him over the heights
Looking far down on the Narrows and out on the dim blue sea.
So through the forest they strolled. They stopped here and there for a flower,
Then sat to rest on a rock. An oak-tree over their heads
Stretched abroad its flickering lights and shadows. The birds
Sang in the woodlands around them. The spot seemed made for romance.
And Lionel drew from his pocket a book that had lately appeared,
A volume of lovers' verse by a poet over the seas,
And read aloud from its pages. Lucille sat twisting a wreath,
Laurel and white-thorn blossoms that half dropped away as she twined them;—
Paused now and then to listen; and as he was closing the book,
Laid a wild flower between the leaves to remember the place—
And playfully placed her wreath on his head, as if he were the poet.
Silent and musing they sat, as they turned to look at the sea,
Watching the smoke of the steamers and white sails skimming afar.
And Lionel said, “Ah, soon you too will be steaming away
Down the blue Narrows; and I—shall miss you—more than you know.”
“Why should you miss me?” she said. “So seldom you visit our house.”
“Had I but followed my wishes;—but you like the lady appeared,
Shut in the circle of Comus. How hard to enter your ring!”
“What should prevent you from coming? How often I wished you would come!
Nobody calls that I care for: our island is growing so dull.”
“Yes—and you long for a change—and so you are going to Europe.
There in a whirl of delights, with fashion and wealth at command,
Soon you'll forget your poor island, and all the admirers you knew.”
“No”—she whispered—“not all”—and blushed, with her head turned away,
Looked down and murmured: “You think I am wedded to fashion and wealth:
Yet often I long for the simpler manners the poets have sung,
The grand old days when souls were prized for their natural worth.
You think I can rise to no feelings and thoughts of a serious life—
Can value no mind and no heart but—such as you meet at our house.
I care not for such—I fancied you knew me far better than that.”
“Lucille”—he never had called her Lucille, but the name came unbidden;
“Lucille, could you love a poor toiler who dared not to offer his heart
And his hand—and in silence had loved you, and wished you were poor for his sake,
So fortunes were equal?” And she, still floating in rosy romance,
Murmured, “I could,” with a look that melted the walls of reserve
And mingled two souls into one. Then, turning away from the sea,
The sea that so soon must divide them, they pledged to each other their troth.
And Lionel saw not the fates that were frowning afar o'er the waves;
For the world wore the color of dreams, as homeward they wended their way.

Bright were the meetings that followed—and yet with a shadowy touch
On Lionel's hopes, as if in the changeable April days
He still were roaming the hills, and still looked over the bay
Where cloud and sunshine were flying, with doubtful promise of spring.
Lucille had a reason, it seemed, to keep their betrothal untold.
The day was so near of their parting. She feared what her mother might say.
'T were best they should part but as friends. They would write to each other the same—
And they would be true to each other—and all would be clear before long.
And Lionel yielded, and pondered. And so they parted at last.