'
The river ran between them,
And he rode beside the stream,
And he turned away and parted,
As a dreamer from his dream.
And his comrade brought his message,
From the field where he was laid--
Just his name to repeat,
And to lay at her feet
The white plume from his hat
And his shining blade.[1]
And he sang it in a tuneful and plaintive tenor, that had power to make
rude and ridiculous things pathetic; and Aunt Rebecca thought he was
altogether very agreeable. But it was time she should see what Miss
Gertrude was about; and Devereux and Lily were such very old friends
that she left them to their devices.
'I like the river,' says he; 'it has a soul, Miss Lily, and a character.
There are no river _gods_, but nymphs. Look at that river, Miss Lilias;
what a girlish spirit. I wish she would reveal herself; I could lose my
heart to her, I believe--if, indeed, I could be in love with anything,
you know. Look at the river--is not it feminine? it's sad and it's
merry, musical and sparkling--and oh, so deep! Always changing, yet
still the same. 'Twill show you the trees, or the clouds, or yourself,
or the stars; and it's so clear and so dark, and so sunny, and--so
cold.
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