Sleep’s slumbering influence now began to fall,
And Arnold must have felt it most of all,—
The day had been a double-day to him;
His dark blue eye had lost its sparkling beam
(And only those who pass through similar scenes,—
Who are the objects of such welcomin’s,—
Can comprehend one half th’ attendant pain,
Extreme of pleasure forces on the brain).
Night now had enter’d in th’ eleventh hour.
The sun was on his antipodal tour;
But heav’n was not forsaken by its queen,
For she was silv’ring o’er th’ expansive green;[238]
With all her wonted grace she shed her rays,
And number’d this as one of her bright days,
She lit the path, in which George had to roam,
That he, in safety, might regain his home:
Each other bade adieu, George homeward sped;
And Arnold Mountjoy sought his lonely bed.
(Twelve other nights, he[239] knew, must be bygone,—
Twelve other suns must cross the temperate zone,—
Ere her[240] virginity—which by the law
Is reckon’d sacred—shall be broken through.)
Jane had retir’d; her evening pray’rs were flown;
A snow white pillow form’d her peaceful crown.
The night was still; all Nature seem’d to lull;
And God, alone, the guardian of the hall!
Thus closed a day, one of unusual mirth,—
One more fleet joy, on this revolving earth.
[238] The Park.
[239] Arnold.
[240] Jane.