The scene was changed. Apart within the walls
Of his lone study sat the youth. Before
Him lay a letter, breathing much of deep,
Impassioned love. Yes, he again had dared
At that same Angel-shrine his heart to lay,
And, well as _words_ could speak, a love to paint,
Not torpid, cold and calculating, like
The selfish feeling of a worldly man--
But with the every fibre of his heart
Inwove. For he had seen her oft, and well
Had studied both her features, mind and heart,
Since first the pangs of unrequited love
Across his bosom shot: in all things had
He found her of such perfect, faultless mould--
So far beyond compare with all that e'er
His eye had looked upon--yea, e'en than aught
Of fairy form, which frolic fancy in
Her wildest mood had shadowed glowing forth
To young imagination's quickened sight,--
That madly had he drunk at passion's fount,
Ere yet the voice of reason whispered late,
(Too late, alas! for in the vortex was
He twirling then, unskilled the yawning gulf
To shun,) that she was not for one like him.
Perchance the spell that bound him unto her
And deep affection's gushing waters stirred,
Was wrought into its present strength--for that
She minded him of one--a sister dear--
Like her in nature as in name, on whom
His heart did centre once, when joyous, bright
And sunny hours e'er gilded o'er the stream
Of early life about their childhood's home;
When each was to the other all that earth
Of joy could give--a little world--beyond
Whose narrow bounds their youthful vision then
Extended not. And now in her he saw
The image of that sister's mind and heart
Reflected back in colors yet more bright,
And felt that life to him was nothing worth,
Except with her its joys and ills were shared.