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TALE OF THE 14TH CENTURY.
Oh call of Love! thy potent spell,
O'er that weak heart prevails too well,
The "still small voice" is heard no more
That pleaded duty's cause before,
And fear is hushed, and doubt is gone,
And pride forgot, and reason flown!
Her cheek, whose colour came and fled,
Resumes its warmest, brightest red,
Her step its quick elastic tread,
Her eye its beaming smile!
Through lonely court and silent hall,
Flits her light shadow o'er the wall,
And still that low, harmonious call
Melts on her ear the while!
Though love's quick ear alone could tell
The words its accents faintly swell,
"Awake! while yet the lingering night
And stars and seas befriend our flight,
Oh! haste, while all is well!"
