THE IMPROVISATRICE.
77
But a stately warrior came from afar;
He bore on his bosom the glorious scar,
So worshipped by women—the death-seal of war.
And the maiden's heart was an easy prize,
When valour and faith were her sacrifice.
Methinks, might that sweet season last,
In which our first love-dream is past;
Ere doubts and cares, and jealous pain,
Are flaws in the heart's diamond-chain;—
Men might forget to think on Heaven,
And yet have the sweet sin forgiven.
But ere the marriage feast was spread,
Leades said that he must brook
