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An anguish'd heart whose loss hath been so great?Where are the hours that fled so swiftly by?

"I, to ordain thee come," she spake:"So prosper, and my blessing take!The holy fire that slumb'ring liesWithin thee, in bright flames shall rise;Yet that thine ever-restless lifeMay still with kindly strength be rife,I, for thine inward spirit's calm.Have granted nourishment and balm,That rapture may thy soul imbue,Like some fair blossom bathed in dew."--Behind his house then secretlyOutside the doorway pointed she,Where, in a shady garden-nook,A beauteous maid with downcast lookWas sitting where a stream was flowing,With elder bushes near it growing,She sat beneath an apple tree,And nought around her seem'd to see.Her lap was full of roses fair,Which in a wreath she twined with care.And, with them, leaves and blossoms blended:For whom was that sweet wreath intended?Thus sat she, modest and retired,Her bosom throbb'd, with hope inspired;Such deep forebodings fill'd her mind,No room for wishing could she find,And with the thoughts that o'er it flew,Perchance a sigh was mingled too.