I stand like a statue of silence. Hush!

I listen not with my ears, but my soul;

And I feel the sudden accustom'd blush,

As again the whisper reaches its goal.

I open the window. 'Mid blossom and bough

Of clustering laurel and Daphne white,

I am showering kisses on Harry's brow,

And dropping the first tears I've shed to-night.

[pg 82]

His face is as white as the Daphne-bud;

He is hiding down on the hidden sward;

He is wan and haggard, and splashed with mud;

He is crouching frighten'd—my king and lord!

He whisper'd, and fill'd my heart with dismay,—

Scared by the sounds that used once to rejoice!—

O Harry, my Harry, speak loudly, I pray,

And not in that shocking whispering voice.

He whisper'd, 'I've got in a horrid scrape;

Fetch me some money, and bid me good-bye;

I must run away, and make my escape,'—

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