Part 2 — THEODORA.

A BALLAD OF THE WOODS.

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BY GEO. CANNING HILL.

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With her raven tresses falling loosely down her neck of snow,

And her cheek all flushed with crimson, like the morning’s richest glow,

From a covert, Theodora, like a loosened sheaf of light,

Burst, with wild and ringing laughter, in upon my wildered sight.

Like a golden dream she came to me, and like a dream she fled,

Crushing crystal dews beneath her, as the diamonds in their bed;

And a spirit seemed to linger round the covert whence she came,

As a glow is oft reflected from the brightness of a flame.

Far within the solemn forest disappeared her sylphide form,

As the gentle star of even pales before presaging storm;

Every songster’s notes were silent, all the wild-flowers wore a blush,

And throughout the wood’s dark mazes was a calm and holy hush.

Such a gush of richest melody as then bestirred the air,

In my soul awakened echoes that had long been slumb’ring there;

’Twas a harmony angelic, that her spirit caught at birth,

And she poured it out in mellow floods, as one of common worth.

Straight she hied her to a fountain, that lay sleeping in the glen—

’Twas a fountain hidden deeply from the common gaze of men;

Greenest mosses grew about it, walling up its crystal wealth,

Save a silver ribbon that escaped its velvet lip by stealth.

On its smooth and argent surface fell the tears that Dryads wept;

In its deep, unruffled bosom sweetest dreams serenely slept;

Not a human face could ever have intruded on the calm

That was reigning all around it, like the fragrance from a balm.

As she drew, unguarded, nigh it, gently seemed the waters stirred;

For the music of her voice was as the warbling of a bird:

And the sheet of liquid crystal, that was slipping o’er the rim,

For a moment fairly quavered, ere it parted from the brim.

Coming nearer, then she spied it—this sweet mirror hidden there—

All set round with greenest mosses, and arbuscles fresh and rare;

And she clapped her hands delighted, as she hastened to its side,

And she shouted with a melody that thrilled its mimic tide.

Then she sat her down beside it, and with hand pressed to her zone,

Thus a moment sat she silent, in her wonderment alone;

Raven ringlets trembled slightly, lustrous eyes beamed wondrous bright,

As she gazed upon the crystal that lay sleeping in her sight.

Bending downward yet more lowly, till the wave her tresses swept,

She essayed to look beyond the brink, where Heaven’s cerulean slept;

But she started as she caught the face so beautiful and fair

That was looking up into her own from out the lakelet there.

Throughout all her wildered senses sped a feeling of affright;

Yet the tremor was well tempered with a sweet, unknown delight:

And she gazed into the large blue eyes that met her from below,

And she thought they peered from out a world beneath the waters’ flow.

Then a blush of richest crimson mounted up unto her cheek,

And a smile enwreathed her parted lips, as if she fain would speak;

But yet while she looked still steadfastly, the face below it smiled,

And Theodora clasped her hands, with seeming transport wild.

Every day thereafter went she, as a nun within her cell,

To the little crystal cloister there imbedded in the dell:

And as every time she looked within, she saw an angel-face—

Upon each reflected feature read the words of truth and grace.