ed his brow--I turned and went--
Softly I stole away, nor, lingering, gazed;
Fearful and wondering still, at my own deed amazed.

Her first pangs of sorrow at quitting home:

"Oh, Arthur! stay"--he turned, and all was o'er--
My sorrow, my repentance--all was vain--
I dreamt the dream of life and love once more,
To wake to sad reality of pain.
He spoke, but to my ear no sound was plain,
Until the little wicket-gate we passed--
_That sound of home_ I never heard again,
And then "drive on--drive faster--yet more fast."
I raised my weeping head--Oh! I had looked my last.

One of those precious moments in which remorse overtakes the victims of
crime, is thus finely drawn:

Months passed: one evening, as of early days,
When first my bosom thrilled _his_ voice to hear,
And thought upon the gentle words of praise
Which forced my lips to smile, and chased my fear:
I sang--a sob, deep, single, struck my ear;
Wondering, I gazed on Arthur, bending low--
His features were concealed, but many a tea,
Quick gushing forth, continued fast to flow,
Stood where they fell, then sank like dew-drops on the snow.

Oh yes! however cold in after years,
At least it cost thee sorrow _then_ to leave me;
And for those few sincere, remorseful tears,
I do forgive (though thou couldst thus deceive me)
The years of peace of which thou didst bereave me.
Yes--as I saw those gushing life-drops come
Back to the heart which yet delayed to grieve me,
Thy love returned a moment to its home,
Far, far away from me for ever then to roam.

He deserts her:

Still hope was left me, and each tedious hour
Was counted as it brought his coming near;
And joyfully I watched each fading flower;
Each tree, whose shadowy boughs grew red and sear;
And hailed sad Autumn, favourite of the year.
At length my time of sorrow came--'twas over,
A beauteous boy was brought me, doubly dear,
For all the Tears that promise caused to hover
Round him--'twas past--I claimed a husband in my lover.

On her return to her paternal cottage:

"My father' oh, my father!" vain the cry--
I had no father now; no need to say
"Thou art alone!." I _felt_ my misery--
My father, yet return,--_return_! the day
When sorrow had availed is passed away:
Tears cannot raise the dead, grief cannot call
Back to the earthy corse the spirit's ray--
Vainly eternal tears of blood might fall;
One short