Till closer drawn, her prison'd fingers
He takes to his lips with a yearning strong;
And she murmurs low, that late she lingers,
Her mother will want her, and think her long.
"Good mother is she, then honor duly
The lightest wish in her heart that stirs;
But there is a bond yet dearer truly,
And there is a love that passeth hers.
"Mercy, Mercy!" Her heart attendeth--
Love's birthday blush on her brow lies sweet;
She turns her face when his own he bendeth,
And the lips of the youth and the maiden meet.
VII. FATHERS.
Move through the bowering hops, O lovers,--
Wander down to the golden West,--
But two stand mute in the shade that covers
Your love and youth from their souls opprest.
A little shame on their spirits stealing,--
A little pride that is loth to sue,--
A little struggle with soften'd feeling,--
And a world of fatherly care for you.
One says: "To this same running water,
May be, Neighbor, your claim is best."
And one--"Your son has kissed my daughter:
Let the matters between us--rest.
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