Ah, I believed it,—for to hear thee speak,
Was as that everlasting life to me.
Even from that hour, sheltered, or tempest-driven,
I have dreamed but of thee—of thee, and heaven.
The cross upon thy breast my fond hopes nurs’d,
It seemed to promise happiness to come;
Alas! from thence a thunderbolt hath burst,
And all around is void and deadly gloom.
Yet deem not I regret;—from life’s brief scope
Thou hast taken all away,—all, all but Hope.
Нeре I repeated, with a soft echo, the banks of the lake and the hills;—“Where am I?” exclaimed Conrad, with a wild smile, aroused from his dreams;—“I hear something of hope? Why those songs?
—I shall remember thy happiness, ‘Three lovely daughters, in one home you dwelt, and thou first wert wooed...
Woe! woe, to you, charming flowers!
