With fingers little used to gentler arts

His timid touch unloosed her perfumed hair,

Too near—for aught but that her curving throat

Should be upturned to meet his sure caress,

And all the blossoms drifted thro' the air

And fell like blessings on their bended heads.

Uhila bore no more; his heart was great

With unshed tears; their beauty and their love

Touched like soft music on his injured soul

35

With infinite sadness and a hopeless calm.

He left them there and sought the forest shades

To search his heart. A great nobility

Slept in his native breast, and those pale drops

Of northern blood had taught him self-control

And might of mercy. To and fro he paced,

Learning his lesson. Taka, little moon

Sent by the gods to light his loneliness,

Was his no longer. He must twist his heart,

Wried with grim pain, to smiles of pleasantness.

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