But its own sorrow suffices to the day. And now
it is a summer sunset, and all around dappled gold and azure, and sweet,
dreamy sounds; and Lilias turns her pretty head, and sees him;--and oh!
was it fancy, or did he see just a little flushing of the colour on her
cheek--and her lashes seemed to drop a little, and out came her frank
little hand. And Devereux leaned on the paling there, and chatted his
best sense and nonsense, I dare say; and they laughed and talked about
all sorts of things; and he sang for them a queer little snatch of a
ballad, of an enamoured captain, the course of whose true love ran not
smooth;--
The river ran between them,
And she looked upon the stream,
And the soldier looked upon her
As a dreamer on a dream.
'Believe me--oh! believe,'
He sighed, 'you peerless maid;
My honour is pure,
And my true love sure,
Like the white plume in my hat,
And my shining blade.'
The river ran between them,
And she smiled upon the stream,
Like one that smiles at folly--
A dreamer on a dream.
'I do not trust your promise,
I will not be betrayed;
For your faith is light,
And your cold wit bright,
Like the white plume in your hat,
And your shining blade.
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