Already

         Our hearts, my prince, with silent vows have blessed

         Thy happy love; and now from every tongue,

         For her – the royal, beauteous bride – should sound

         The glad acclaim; so tell what nook unseen,

         What deep umbrageous solitude, enshrines

         The charmer of thy heart? With magic spells

         Almost I deem she mocks our gaze, for oft

         In eager chase we scour each rustic path

         And forest dell; yet not a trace betrayed

         The lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps marked

         Of this mysterious fair.

                      The spell is broke!

         And all shall be revealed: now list my tale: —

         'Tis five months flown, – my father yet controlled

         The land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;

         Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,

         And mimic warfare of the chase; —

                           One day, —

         Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toil

         On yonder woody ridge: – it chanced, pursuing

         A snow-white hind, far from your train I roved

         Amid the forest maze; – the timid beast,

         Along the windings of the narrow vale,

         Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,

         Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distant

         Beyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,

         Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,

         Sudden she vanished: – from my horse quick springing,

         I followed: – lo! the poor scared creature lay

         Stretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,

         That strove with fond caress of her fair hands

         To still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;

         And motionless – my spear, in act to strike,

         High poised – while she, with her large piteous eyes

         For mercy sued – and thus we stood in silence

         Regarding one another.

                     How long the pause

         I know not – time itself forgot; – it seemed

         Eternity of bliss: her glance of sweetness

         Flew to my soul; and quick the subtle flame

         Pervaded all my heart: —

                      But what I spoke,

         And how this blessed creature answered, none

         May ask; it floats upon my thought, a dream

         Of childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my sense

         Returned, I felt her bosom throb responsive

         To mine, – then fell melodious on my ear

         The sound, as of a convent bell, that called

         To vesper song; and, like some shadowy vision

         That melts in air, she flitted from my sight,

         And was beheld no more.

                      Thy story thrills

         My breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbed

         The sanctuary, and for the bride of heaven

         Burned with unholy passion! Oh, remember

         The cloister's sacred vows!

                        Thenceforth one path

         My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still

         Of young desires – new felt my being's aim,

         My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns

         His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,

         With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star; —

         So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,

         My hopes and longings centred all. No sun

         Sank in the western waves, but smiled farewell

         To two united lovers: – thus in stillness

         Our hearts were twined, – the all-seeing air above us

         Alone the faithful witness of our joys!

         Oh, golden hours! Oh, happy days! nor Heaven

         Indignant viewed our bliss; – no vows enchained

         Her spotless soul; naught but the link which bound it

         Eternally to mine!

                   Those hallowed walls,

         Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,

         No living grave?

                  In infant innocence

         Consigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she left

         Her cloistered home.

                    But what her royal line?

         The noble only spring from noble stem.

         A secret to herself, – she ne'er has learned

         Her name or fatherland.

                      And not a trace

         Guides to her being's undiscovered springs?

         An old domestic, the sole messenger

         Sent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks her

         Of kingly race.