52
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
The lady awoke from the slumber of night,
But the vision had melted away from her sight.
She turn'd to her pillow for rest, but again
The same vision of fear became only more plain.
She dream'd she stood on a fair hill side,
And their lands lay beneath in summer pride,
The sky was clear, and the earth was green,
Her heart grew light as she gazed on the scene.
Two fair oak trees most caught her eye,
The one look'd proudly up to the sky,
The other bent meekly, as if to share
The shelter its proud boughs flung on the air.
There came no cloud on the face of day,
Yet even as she look'd they pass'd away,
Unmark'd as though they had never been,
Save a young green shoot that had sprung between.
