His hot dark face pursuing; or I'll couch

In covert green, and hold my breath to hear

His blundering foot go by; then up I'll leap,

And run—and he'll run after. O this lightness!

I'll draw him like a fairy, dance and double—

Yet not so fast but he shall overtake

At length, and catch me panting. O, I charge you,

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem,

Wake not my love beneath the forest bough

Where we lie dreaming!

[Fanfare of trumpets in the distance.]

Trumpets, hark! and drums!

They have landed! From the quay they march!

Flowers! flowers!

He looks—waves—O 'tis he! O foolish heart!—

I had feared he'd ta'en a wound.

What is't they shout?

Eh? 'Victory!'—yes, yes. He's browner, thinner;

And the dear eyes, how gaunt!... Yes

'Victory!'

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