“Rarely has man, in this full crowd below,
    E’en partial knowledge of my worth possess’d
    Who felt not in his breast
    At least awhile some spark of spirit glow: 
    But soon my foe, each germ of good abhorr’d,
    Quenches that light, and every virtue dies,
    While reigns some other lord
    Who promises a calmer life shall rise: 
    Love, of your mind, to him that naked lies,
    So shows the great desire with which you burn,
    That safely I divine
    It yet shall win for you an honour’d urn;
    Already one of my few friends you are,
    And now shall see in sign
    A lady who shall make your fond eyes happier far.”

    “It may not, cannot be,” I thus began;
    —­When she, “Turn hither, and in yon calm nook
    Upon the lady look
    So seldom seen, so little sought of man!”
    I turn’d, and o’er my brow the mantling shame,
    Within me as I felt that new fire swell,
    Of conscious treason came. 
    She softly smiled, “I understand you well;
    E’en as the sun’s more powerful rays dispel
    And drive the meaner stars of heaven from sight,
    So I less fair appear,
    Dwindling and darken’d now in her more light;
    But not for this I bar you from my train,
    As one in jealous fear—­
    One birth, the elder she, produced us, sisters twain.”

    Meanwhile the cold and heavy chain was burst
    Of silence, which a sense of shame had flung
    Around my powerless tongue,
    When I was conscious of her notice first: 
    And thus I spoke, “If what I hear be true,
    Bless’d be the sire, and bless’d the natal day
    Which graced our world with you! 
    Blest the long years pass’d in your search away! 
    From the right path if e’er I went astray,
    It grieves me more than, haply, I can show: 
    But of your state, if I
    Deserve more knowledge, more I long to know.” 
    She paused, then, answering pensively, so bent
    On me her eloquent eye,
    That to my inmost heart her looks and language went:—­

    “As seem’d to our Eternal Father best,
    We two were made immortal at our birth: 
    To man so small our worth
    Better on us that death, like yours, should rest. 
    Though once beloved and lovely, young and bright,
    So slighted are we now, my sister sweet
    Already plumes for flight
    Her wings to bear her to her own old seat;
    Myself am but a shadow thin and fleet;
    Thus have I told you, in brief words, whate’er
    You sought of us to find: 
    And now farewell! before I mount in air
    This favour take, nor fear that I forget.” 
    Whereat she took and twined
    A wreath of laurel green, and round my temples set.