The moan of doves in immemorial elms.--
Fair Mildred wide her lattice threw,
And beckoned tenderly:
"Come, glad wood doves, come, pretty doves,
And coo a while to me!
130Come nestle fondly in my arms,
As hopes do in my breast,
That list'ning to your cadence sweet
May lull my fears to rest."
The doves from out the branches flew,
And nestled round the maid;
She whisp'ring low her lover's name,
Gazed wistful down the glade.
The postman halted at the gate,
Pale Mildred's heart beat high;
"Why comes he here instead of Ralph?
O Sorrow, pass me by!"
He quick unto the lattice sped,
She read, then cried aloud:
"Alas! my Ralph beneath the waves,
With seaweed for a shroud!
It cannot be! it may not be!
Depart! ye cruel dreams!
Depart ye doves, sad, moaning doves!
Your song a mock'ry seems!"
The orange moon rose in the east,
The flow'rs swayed in the breeze;
Unconsciously yet mournfully,
The doves cooded in the trees.
She wrung her hands imploringly,
"Ah! woe is me! I seem
To be unwaking; cease, sad doves!
He lives! 'tis but a dream!"