I sought in vain to soothe my troubled breast,
And wander'd forth alone, for well I guess'd
That Arthur would be lingering in the bower
Which oft with summer garlands I had drest;
Where blamelessly I spent full many an hour
Ere yet I felt or love's or sin's remorseless power.

No joyful step to welcome me was there;
For slumber had her transient blessing sent
To him I loved--the still and balmy air,
The blue and quiet sky, repose had lent,
Deep as her own--above that form I bent,
The rich and clustering curls I gently raised,
And, trembling, kissed his brow--I turned and went--
Softly I stole away, nor, lingering, gazed;
Fearful and wondering still, at my own deed amazed.

Her first pangs of sorrow at quitting home:

"Oh, Arthur! stay"--he turned, and all was o'er--
My sorrow, my repentance--all was vain--
I dreamt the dream of life and love once more,
To wake to sad reality of pain.
He spoke, but to my ear no sound was plain,
Until the little wicket-gate we passed--
_That sound of home_ I never heard again,
And then "drive on--drive faster--yet more fast."
I raised my weeping head--Oh! I had looked my last.

One of those precious moments in which remorse overtakes the victims of