An inward trouble dims his eye,
Some riddle he would solve;
Some method to unloose a knot,
His anxious thoughts revolve.

He, pensive, leans against a tree,
A leafy evergreen,
The boughs, the moonlight, intercept,
And hide him like a screen
He starts--the tree shakes with his tremor,
Yet nothing near him pass'd;
He hurries up the garden alley,
In strangely sudden haste.

With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet,
Steps o'er the threshold stone;
The heavy door slips from his fingers--
It shuts, and he is gone.
What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?--
A nervous thought, no more;
'Twill sink like stone in placid pool,
And calm close smoothly o'er.


II. THE PARLOUR.

Warm is the parlour atmosphere,
Serene the lamp's soft light;
The vivid embers, red and clear,
Proclaim a frosty night.