LOVE'S FOOTSTEPS.

I sang a song of olden times, Sitting upon our sacred hill— Sang it to feel my bosom thrill To the sweet pathos of its rhymes.

I trilled the music o'er and o'er, And happy, gazed upon the scene, Thinking that there had never been So blue a sea, so fair a shore.

A vague half dream was in my mind; I hardly saw how sat the sun; I noted not the day was gone The rosy western hills behind.

'Till, soft as if Apollo blew For me the sweet Thessalian flute, I heard a sound which made me mute, And more than singing thrilled me through.

THY STEP—well known and well beloved! No more I dreamed on shore or sea; I thought of, saw but only thee, Nor spoke, but blushed to be so moved.