Part 2 / Book 2 — 17. EVIL DREAMS.

In vision once more young and happy, paced I Near the old country house that used to stand Hard by the mountain; down the pathway raced I, Yes, raced with dear Ottilia, hand in hand. How graceful was her figure! She enchanted With the sweet magic of her sea-green eyes; On her small feet how firmly was she planted, A form where elegance with vigour vies! Her voice’s tone, how true and how confiding! Her spirit’s inmost depth one seems to see; Wisdom her every word is ever guiding, Her mouth’s as like a rosebud as can be. It is not pangs of love that now steal o’er me, I wander not, my reason’s in command; Yet strangely am I soften’d, as before me She stands, with trembling warmth I kiss her hand. When I a lily from the stem had broken, I gave it her, and then these words address’d: “Ottilia, be my wife by this dear token, “That I may be as good as thee, and blest.” The answer that she gave, it reach’d me never, For presently I woke,—and now lie here In my sick chamber, weak and ill as ever— As I have hopeless lain for many a year.