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THE BASQUE GIRL
There stood a radiant girl!—her chesnut hair—
One bright gold tint was on it—loosely fell
In large rich curls upon a neck whose snow
And grace were like the swan's; she wore the garb
Of her own village, and her small white feet
And slender ancles, delicate as carved
From Indian ivory, were bare,—the turf
Seemed scarce to feel their pressure. There she stood!
Her head leant on her arm, the beech's trunk
Supporting her slight figure, and one hand
Prest to her heart, as if to still its throbs!—
You never might forget that face,—so young,
So fair, yet traced with such deep characters
Of inward wretchedness! The eyes were dim,
With tears on the dark lashes; still the lip
Could not quite lose its own accustomed smile,
