Gladly I ran o'er the daisy-clad plain,
Led by the shimmering light of the star,
And under the tree I found--Harry Vane
Lying, and smoking a 'mild cigar!'

I started astonish'd--he stood upright,
And said, in a voice persuasively kind,
'Don't you _know_ that I come here every night,
To see your shadow flit by on the blind?'

I look'd where he pointed, as if 'twas I
Could see my own phantom flicker and pass,--
And _Aunt Bridget's_ shadow mov'd solemnly by,
Over the canvas that hangs by the glass!

Oh, how could we help it?--we laugh'd aloud
(Birds never cease their sweet voices in spring;
And I think in youth little laughters crowd
And spring to our lips at everything!)

In laughter we lost all sense of surprise;
It seem'd only natural we should meet;
And a star shot flaming across the skies,
And a little glow-worm gleam'd at my feet.

And a distant bell swung its solemn chime,
That seem'd to me like the voice of a star;
And I think, through a century of time,
I shall always believe that such things are.