IV. The heart grows richer that its lot is poor,- And makes the cot a palace with his eyes;- And grew in gentleness and patience wise, V. There was no beauty of the wood or field Some grace that in her soul took root and grew: Nature to her glowed ever new-revealed, All rosy fresh with innocent morning dew, And looked into her heart with dim, sweet eyes That left it full of sylvan memories. VI. O, what a face was hers to brighten light, And part of memory's best contentment grow! VII. None looked upon her but he straightway thought Of all the greenest depths of country cheer, And into each one's heart was freshly brought What was to him the sweetest time of year, So was her every look and motion fraught Is love learned only out of poets' books? Is there not somewhat in the dropping flood, And in the nunneries of silent nooks, And in the murmured longing of the wood, That could make Margaret dream of lovelorn looks, And stir a thrilling mystery in her blood More trembly secret than Aurora's tear Shed in the bosom of an eglaterre? IX Full many a sweet forewarning hath the mind, Its virgin zone, and all its deeps inspire,— X. Long in its dim recesses pines the spirit, XI. To feel a want, yet scarce know what it is, But with our destined co-mate we can do,--- XII. So Margaret's heart grew brimming with the lore strand. XIII. A new-made star that swims the lonely gloom, XIV. Not far from Margaret's cottage dwelt a knight And dew of her ripe beauty, through the grate Of his close vow catching what gleams he might Of the free heaven, and cursing-all too lateThe cruel faith whose black walls hemmed him in And turned life's crowning bliss to deadly sin. XV. For he had met her in the wood by chance, XVI. A dark, proud man he was, whose half-blown youth Had shed its blossoms even in opening, Leaving a few that with more winning ruth Trembling around grave manhood's stem might cling, More sad than cheery, making, in good sooth, XVII. Fair as an angel, who yet inly wore A wrinkled heart foreboding his near fall; Little he loved, but power most of all, And that he seemed to scorn, as one who knew By what foul paths men choose to crawl thereto. XVIII. He had been noble, but some great deceit Had turned his better instinct to a vice: He strove to think the world was all a cheat, That power and fame were cheap at any price, That the sure way of being shortly great Was even to play life's game with loaded dice, Since he had tried the honest play and found That vice and virtue differed but in sound. XIX. Yet Margaret's sight redeemed him for a space Fell lightly from him, and, a moment free, XX. Like a sweet wind-harp to him was her thought. Which would not let the common air come near, Till from its dim enchantment it had caught A musical tenderness that brimmed his ear With sweetness more ethereal than aught Save silver-dropping snatches that whilere Rained down from some sad angel's faithful harp To cool her fallen lover's anguish sharp. XXI. Deep in the forest was a little dell High overarched with the leafy sweep Of a broad oak, through whose gnarled roots there fell A slender rill that sung itself asleep, |