Moved her and touched, she knew not why nor how.

The solemn beauty of the world; the fate

Of all things living, vast and inchoate

Yet clothed with flowers; the soul's eternal dream

Of something still beyond; the passionate whim

Of every noble mind for something good,

Which should assuage its hunger with new food;

The thrill of hope, the pulse of happiness,

The vague half-conscious longing of the eyes—

eyes—

All these appealed to her, and seemed to lie

In form and substance under the blue sky,

Filling the shadows of the Sabine Hills

As with a presence, till her natural ills,

39

Transfigured through a happy mist of tears,

Gave place to hopes yet hardly dreamed as hers.

And still Lord L. talked calmly on, and she

Listened as to the voice of prophecy,

Nursing the pressure which the Prince's hand

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