Xvi

No more she said; but smiling fell, And lost her sorrow on his breast; Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell, Like troubled waters laid at rest In comfort's well:

Tis nothing more, an' if she weep, Than joy she cannot else reveal; As onyx-gems of Pison keep A tear-vein, where the sun may steal Throughout their deep.

May every Adam's fairer part Thus, only thus, a rival find-- The image of herself, enshrined Within the faithful heart!