“Oh! Abyssinian tree,
How the traveller blesses thee,
When the night no moon allows,
And the sun‐set hour is near,
And thou bend’st thy boughs
To kiss his brows,
Saying, ‘Come rest thee here.’
Oh! Abyssinian tree,
Thus bow thy head to me!”
In the burden of this song the companions of the young Nubian joined; and
we heard the words, “Oh! Abyssinian tree,” dying away on the breeze, long
after the whole group had been lost to our eyes.
Whether, in this new arrangement which I had made for our voyage, any
motive, besides those which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, even
myself, so bewildered were my feelings, determine. But no sooner had the
current borne us away from all human dwellings, and we were alone on the
waters, with not a soul near, than I felt how closely such solitude draws
hearts together, and how much more we seemed to belong to each other, than
when there were eyes around.
The same feeling, but without the same sense of its danger, was manifest
in every look and word of Alethe. The consciousness of the one great
effort she had made appeared to have satisfied her heart on the score of
duty,—while the devotedness with which she saw I attended to her every
wish, was felt with all that gratitude which, in woman, is the day‐spring
of love. She was, therefore, happy, innocently happy; and the confiding,
and even affectionate, unreserve of her manner, while it rendered my trust
more sacred, made it also far more difficult.
It was only, however, on subjects unconnected with our situation or fate,
that she yielded to such interchange of thought, or that her voice
ventured to answer mine. The moment I alluded to the destiny that awaited
us, all her cheerfulness fled, and she became saddened and silent. When I
described to her the beauty of my own native land—its founts of
inspiration and fields of glory—her eyes sparkled with sympathy, and
sometimes even softened into fondness. But when I ventured to whisper,
that, in that glorious country, a life full of love and liberty awaited
her; when I proceeded to contrast the adoration and bliss she might
command, with the gloomy austerities of the life to which she was
hastening,—it was like the coming of a sudden cloud over a summer sky. Her
head sunk, as she listened;—I waited in vain for an answer; and when, half
playfully reproaching her for this silence, I stooped to take her hand, I
could feel the warm tears fast falling over it.
But even this—little hope as it held out—was happiness. Though it
foreboded that I should lose her, it also whispered that I was loved. Like
that lake, in the Land of Roses(7), whose waters are half sweet, half
bitter, I felt my fate to be a compound of bliss and pain,—but the very
pain well worth all ordinary bliss.
And thus did the hours of that night pass along; while every moment
shortened our happy dream, and the current seemed to flow with a swifter
pace than any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a feature of the whole
scene but is, at this moment, freshly in my memory;—the broken star‐light
on the water;—the rippling sound of the boat, as, without oar or sail, it
went, like a thing of enchantment, down the stream;—the scented fire,
burning beside us on the deck, and, oh, that face, on which its light
fell, still revealing, as it turned, some new charm, some blush or look,
more beautiful than the last.
Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of all else in this world, our boat,
left wholly to itself, would drive from its course, and, bearing us to the
bank, get entangled in the water‐flowers, or be caught in some eddy, ere I
perceived where we were. Once, too, when the rustling of my oar among the
flowers had startled away from the bank some wild antelopes, that had
stolen, at that still hour, to drink of the Nile, what an emblem I thought
it of the young heart beside me,—tasting, for the first time, of hope and
love, and so soon, alas, to be scared from their sweetness for ever!