Page:Poems Eliza Gabriella Lewis.djvu/161

The captive Mary yet may prove
 Her gratitude, but now—
Thanks—the poor guerdon she bestows,
 Tears and a happy brow!"

The Douglas bent with reverence low,
 Then, with a kindly haste,
He whispered, "On, my sovereign,
 The precious moments waste."

On the slight shallop's prow she stepp'd
 "Farewell, ye towers," she cried;
"Oh! Douglas, but for thee, perchance
 Within these walls I'd died."

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"Susojos a mis ojos
Miven atentos,
Y, callando se dicen
Sus sentimentos,
Cosa es bien eavas,
Qua sin habaose entienden
Nuestros dos almas."

TO ———

It told me thou wert all my own—
(My gentle one)—that voiceless tone—