She strove to speak, but 'twas in murmurs low,
While o'er her cheek, his potent spell confessing,
Deeper diffused the warm carnation glow
Still dewy wet with tears her inmost soul confessing.
As the little reptile, in some lonely grove,
With fixed bright eye of facinating flame
Lures on by slow degrees the plaining dove,
So nearer--nearer still--the bride and spirit came.