II.

Oh! Southern cheeks are quick to feel The magic finger of the frost; And Mildred heard but one long peal From the fierce Arctic, which embossed Her window-panes, and set the seal

Of cold on all her eye beheld, When through her veins there swept new fire, And, in her answering bosom, swelled New purposes and new desire, And force to higher deeds impelled.

Ah! well for her the languor cast That followed from her Southern clime! The time would come—was coming fast,— Love's consummated, crowning time— Of which her heart had antepast!

A strange new life was in her breast; Her eyes were full of wondrous dreams; She sailed all whiles from crest to crest Of a broad ocean, through whose gleams She saw an island wrapped in rest!

And as she drove across the sea, Toward the fair port that fixed her gaze, Her life was like a rosary, Whose slowly counted beads were days Of prayer for one that was to be!