Thai Gilbert marvell'd much to see How fair a furrow'd check could be. Sweet 'oving-kindness! if thou shine, The phinest face may seem divine, And beauty's self grow doubly bright In the mild glory of thy light.

VIII.

She spoke, and every word she said

Was comfort to his mind: 'Rise from the earth, O suffering man, And know that God is kind! If thou art smitten for thy sin, Repentance may thy pardon win. Happy would Amethysta be To hear thy dreaming voice; Could she believe that thou wert true, Her spirit would rejoice, For all her lingering trust, I know, And all her love, and all her woe.'

IX.

The tears ran down Sir Gilbert's cheek, And joy with sorrow grew: 'Whoe'er thou art that know'st my crime,

Know my repentance too:
But Amethysta, maid divine!
Lost by my guilt, can ne'er be mine;

I am unworthy of her care,
Too vile and sunken in despair,
For love of one so good and fair.

X.

'Speak of her still !—relenting Fate Has kindly brought me here: "Twill be a joy 'mid all my pain To breathe her name so dear. Speak of her ever-night and morn ;— The curse I suffer must be borne;

But it will ease its heavy load, To think of her and trust in God; And I will share thy gloomy cave, And be thy servant and thy slave.'

XI.

Alas!' said she, my voice is weak,

And I am frail and old, And all the day and every night I perish with the cold. Behold the embers on the floor, They faint and flicker evermore; But go thou forth, thine axe in hand, And roam through all the forest land,

And hew me logs of oak and pine, Until thy strength shall tire,Logs thick and strong and branches long,

To feed this wasting fire;
We'll sit together in the glow,
And I will tell thee all I know
Of Amethysta's love and woe.'

XII.

He took the axe and wander'd forth Amid the woodland shades, And gather'd branches as he went, Wind-scatter'd in the glades ; And still his courage and his strength With each exertion grew,

Until the boughs of oak and pine

In shooting splinters flew. And thus he wrought without complaint From morn until the noon; He bound his loads with willow twigs, By the twilight of the moon, And bore them on his weary back Through wilds unfurrow'd by a track.

XIII.

She rubb'd her wither'd hands for joy To greet him as he came, And branch on branch, and log on log, He cast into the flame, Till merrily the fire shot up, And pour'd the sparks like hail, Casting a glow of ruddy light On their faces thin and pale; And by the hearth she took her seat, And beckon'd Gilbert to her feet.

XIV.

She told him of the dream he had By the watch-fire in the snow, And of the chaunt the maiden sang So musical and low,

And of the pity in his soul Awaken'd by her woe; And much he wonder'd as he heard, And hung entranced on every word.

XV.

She told how 'spirits walk'd the world
More beautiful than man,
Who sail'd unseen upon the winds,
Or on the waters ran;-
Dwellers amid the airy spheres,
Or denizens of flame,

All creatures of the self-same God, And worshipping His name; Brighter than man, more pure, more free

But, ah! not half so blest as he.

XVI.

She told of Amethysta's love, How fond she was and true, And open'd his remorseful heart,

And bared it to his view; And show'd how pitiless he was, How perjured and how vile, "To woo this trusting maiden's love,

And win it to beguile, And rob her (cruel, though forgiven,) Of joy on earth, of hope in heaven!

XVII.

Yes, wisdom dwelt upon her tongue,
And eloquent was she,

And he listen'd with an earnest mind,
And heart of agony,
And never tired; for dear to him
Was Amethysta's name,-
Dear the remembrance of her love,
Sweet maiden of the flame!
And dearest far a blessed hope-
It made his soul with sorrow cope-
That he should see her 'mid his pain,
And press her to his heart again.

XVIII.

And thus within that lonely cave
The live-long days he pass'd,-
Many a week and many a month,

Till the winter came at last;
And every morning forth he went
Until the noon of day,
With toil and moil and blistering feet,
Through all that forest gray,
And hew'd the logs of pine and oak,
Upon her fire to lay,-

For she, alas! could never speak If the flames burn'd low and weak; She loved a fire-light fierce and strong, And thickest boughs a fathom long; And though the load his strength might break,

'Twas borne for Amethysta's sake.

XIX.

Hard was his fare,-his only food The roots and berries of the wood,