Iii

Upon a smooth fern-mantled stone She sat, and watched the wicket-gate, Not timid in her woman's throne, Nor lonely in her sinless state, Though all alone;

For having spread her simple board With grapes, and peaches, milk, and flowers, She strewed sweet mastic o'er the sward, And waited through the bridal hours Step of her lord.

Such innocence around her breathed, And freshness of young nature's play, The sensitive plant shrank not away, And cactus' swords were sheathed.