The deepest eloquence that language owns—
The richest power of music, ne'er can tell,
Since that sweet hour when first I heard thy tones,
How dear thou art to me, my own Adel!"
PART SECOND.
The lovers parted for a little time—
Oh, hapless parting! Yet one had but gone
To make a Paradise for his young bride—
To gather birds and flowers to his home—
To hang his palace walls with pictures rare—
To place rich gifts and music in her room—
To load the polished shelves with choicest books,
And blend refinement with the lavish wealth
Profusely scattered through that lovely home!
And when the fruit hung golden on the trees,
And the bright air of autumn wound the leaves
Whose gorgeous hues robed earth in loveliness,
And made soft, dreamy shadows on her breast,
And all the air was full of a sweet sound
Made by their rustling music, then was he
To claim the mistress of that fairy place.
Adel was slowly pacing to and fro
Upon a green bank by the river-side.
Where first they met. The faint wind waved her hair,
And sent the leaflets fluttering to her feet,
That like bright butterflies, perched on the trees
And humming to each other, swung above.
Her tiny footsteps heedless pressed them down
Into the mossy turf; and those bright curls
Wore not the glowing wreath she loved to weave
Of autumn glory, in her idle hours,
Was that young creature, with the musing step,
Dreaming of future happiness and love—
Dwelling upon the coming bridal hour—
