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THE FOREST SANCTUARY.
XXVI.
Then bounded in a boy, with clear dark eye—
—How should he know his father?—when we parted,
From the soft cloud which mantles infancy,
His soul, just wakening into wonder, darted
Its first looks round. Him follow'd one, the bride
Of my young days, the wife how lov'd and tried!
Her glance met mine—I could not speak—she started
With a bewilder'd gaze;—until there came
XXVII.
She knew me then!—I murmur'd "Leonor!"
And her heart answer'd!—oh! the voice is known
First from all else, and swiftest to restore
Love's buried images with one low tone,
That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded,
And the brow heavily with thought o’ershaded,
And all the brightness from the aspect gone!
—Upon my breast she sunk, when doubt was fled,
