And no roses would be sweet
As the sighs when lovers meet.
The slight bark came o'er the sea,
Two leant in it mournfully:
One who left her convent cell
With the youth she loved so well,
One who left his native land
For the sake of that dear hand.
Shine and storm they had sailed through—
What is there love dare not do?
Her arm round his neck was thrown,
His was round her like a zone,
Guarding with such anxious fear
All it had in life most dear.
Pale her cheek, and the sea spray
Dashed upon it, as she lay
Pillowed on her lover's arm;
But her lip still kept the charm
(Fondly raised to his the while)
Of its own peculiar smile,
As with him she had no fear
Of the rushing waters near;
And the youth's dark flashing eye
Answered her's so tenderly,
So wildly, warmly, passionate,
As she only were his fate. - - -
But Hope rises from her grave,
There is land upon the wave:
What are toils or perils past?
Reached is the bright isle at last,
Free from care or earthly thrall,
For love's own sweet festival! L. E. L.
