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THE LOVER'S TALE.
Should kiss with an unwonted gentleness.
Her love did murder mine? What then? She deem'd
I wore a brother's mind: she call'd me brother:
She told me all her love: she shall not weep.
The brightness of a burning though, awhile
In battle with the glooms of my dark will,
Moonlike emerged, and to itself lit up
There on the depth of an unfathom'd woe
Reflex of action. Starting up at once,
As from a dismal dream of my own death,
I, for I loved her, lost my love in Love;
I, for I loved her, graspt the hand she lov'd.
And laid it in her own, and sent my cry
Thro' the blank night to Him who loving made
The happy and unhappy love, taht He
Would hold the hand of blessing over them,
Lionel, the happy, and her, and her, his bride!
