Seven days she lurked in brake and field, At length, in darkness travelling on, "To put your love to dangerous proof No answer did the Matron give, She led the Lady to a seat The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed, Where she in childhood had reposed, When she, whose couch had been the sod, Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God, While over her the Matron bent Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn, In those unworthy vestments worn "Have you forgot"—and here she smiled "The babbling flatteries You lavished on me when a child I was your lambkin, and your bird, "The blossom you so fondly praised Is come to bitter fruit; A mighty One upon me gazed; I spurned his lawless suit, And must be hidden from his wrath: You, Foster-father dear, Will guide me in my forward path; "I cannot bring to utter woe Your proved fidelity." "Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! For you we both would die." "Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned And cheek embrowned by art; Yet, being inwardly unstained, With courage will depart." "But whither would you, could you, flee ? poor Man's counsel take; A The Holy Virgin gives to me A thought for your dear sake; PART II. THE dwelling of this faithful pair And there, sequestered from the sight, And midway in the unsafe morass, Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass The Woodman knew, for such the craft That never fowler's gun, nor shaft A sanctuary seemed the spot From all intrusion free; And there he planned an artful Cot For perfect secrecy. With earnest pains unchecked by dread She moulds her sight-eluding den His task accomplished to his mind, The twain ere break of day Creep forth, and through the forest wind Their solitary way; Few words they speak, nor dare to slack Their pace from mile to mile, Till they have crossed the quaking marsh, And reached the lonely Isle. The sun above the pine-trees showed A bright and cheerful face; And Ina looked for her abode, The promised hiding-place; She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen, Nor roof, nor window ;-all seemed wild As it had ever been. Advancing, you might guess an hour, As shaggy as were wall and roof And hearth was there, and maple dish, And cups in seemly rows, And couch-all ready to a wish For nurture or repose; And Heaven doth to her virtue grant That here she may abide In solitude, with every want By cautious love supplied. |