96
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
To his German maiden's lowly state;
Chose he as chooses the wood-dove his mate:
But when his paradise was won,
It was not what his fancy had fed upon.
Alas! when angry words begin
Their entrance on the lip to win;
When sullen eye and flushing cheek
Say more than bitterest tone could speak;
And look and word, than fire or steel,
Give wounds more deep,—time cannot heal;
And anger digs, with tauntings vain,
A gulf it may not pass again.
Her lord is gone to some hunter's rite,
Where the red wine-cup passes night;
