THE PAINTER'S LOVE.
267
I left, with him, my native shore,
Not as a bride who passes o'er
Her father's threshold with his blessing,
With flowers strewn and friends caressing,
Kind words, and purest hopes to cheer
The bashfulness of maiden fear;
But I—I fled as culprits fly,
By night, watched only by one eye
Whose look was all the world to me,
And it met mine so tenderly,
I thought not of the days to come,
I thought not of my own sweet home,
Nor of mine aged father's sorrow,—
Wild love takes no thought for to-morrow.
I left my home, and I was left
A stranger in his land, bereft
