But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. My ear-rings! my ear-rings! O, luckless, luckless well! For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell. "I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe, That I have thought of him at morn, and thought of him at eve; That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone, And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well." JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. HESPERIA. OUT of the golden remote wild west where the sea without shore is, Full of the sunset, and sad, if at all, with the fulness of joy, As a wind sets in with the autumn that blows from the region of stories, Blows with a perfume of songs and of memories beloved from a boy, |