146
THE GUERILLA CHIEF.
"Leandro!" said a sweet and gentle voice;
And a soft hand prest on his throbbing brow,
And tears like twilight dew feel on his cheek.
He looked upon the maiden;—'twas the one
With whom his first pure love had dwelt,—the one
Who was the sun and starlight of his youth!
She stood beside him, lovely as a saint
Looking down pity upon penitence—
Perhaps less bright in colour and in eye
Than the companion of his infancy:—
But was that cheek less fair because he knew
That it had lost the beauty of its spring
With passionate sorrowing for him? She stood
One moment gazing on his face, as there
Her destiny was written; and then took
A little crucifix of ebony
