TRIO. FOUNDED ON A WELL KNOWN PASSAGE OF DANTE.

Do you remember, dear, the day we sat And read together from an old love-book Alone in that sweet, calm, sequestered nook Which Nature made for souls to marvel at? Beneath us stretched a soft and shining mat Of velvet verdure; leaves and blossoms shook As songsters all their melodies forsook To hear a legend from Love’s laureate We knew no fear, for there was no one by, The stream seemed in its ripple to repeat That tale of Lancelot, so sadly sweet, Whom love enthralled in endless slavery. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal.

When from your lips the words fell on mine ear Full many a thought our souls together drew In sympathy, that with the story grew Still more intense, and oh! so wondrous near. Our eyes were dimmed by Love’s all-pitying tear And from our cheeks the blushing colour flew As if ashamed of its divulgent hue;— How well we understood the story, dear! The blue vault overhead bore not a cloud Upon its surface; on our sky of love Not e’en the shadow of a sigh did move, Where now the soul-storm rages long and loud. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal.

But one sweet passage from the book you read The o’ergrown bud of love contrived to burst, And all the beauty it had warmly nursed Broke in our trembling hearts and blossomèd. Youth’s long-fought fire our unloosed fancies fed; Our souls felt Love’s unsatiable thirst; O! happiest moment then, but now the worst, When life’s blue sky grew all aflame with red! But when you told how that long looked for smile Was kissed by noble Lancelot, then—then— You kissed my quivering lips; nor read again; And bliss eternal breathed in us awhile. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal.