THE TROUBADOUR.
87
It was a lovely summer night,
The air was incense-fill'd, the light
Was dim and tremulous, a gleam,
When a star, mirror'd on the stream,
Sent a ray round just to reveal
How gales from flower to flower steal.
"It was on such a night as this,
When even a single breath is bliss,
Such a soft air, such a mild heaven,
My vows to Eginhard were given."
Sigh'd Elenore, "Oh, might it be
A hope, a happy augury!"
She reach'd the lake,—a blush, a smile,
Contended on her face the while;