. Poems . I. TwAS Autumn; thro Provence had ceased The vintage, and the vintage-feast. The sun had set behind the hill, The moon was up, and all was still. And from the Convents neighbouring tower The clock had tolled the midnight-houi;. When Jacqueline came forth alone. Her kerchief oer her tresses thrown; A guilty thing and full of fears. Yet ah, how lovely in her tears! 140 She starts, and what has caught her eye?What—but her shadow ghding by ?She stops, she pants; with lips apartShe hstens—to her beating heart!Then, thro the scanty orchard stealing,The clustering boughs her track concealin
. Poems . I. TwAS Autumn; thro Provence had ceased The vintage, and the vintage-feast. The sun had set behind the hill, The moon was up, and all was still. And from the Convents neighbouring tower The clock had tolled the midnight-houi;. When Jacqueline came forth alone. Her kerchief oer her tresses thrown; A guilty thing and full of fears. Yet ah, how lovely in her tears! 140 She starts, and what has caught her eye?What—but her shadow ghding by ?She stops, she pants; with lips apartShe hstens—to her beating heart!Then, thro the scanty orchard stealing,The clustering boughs her track concealing,She flies, nor casts a thought gives her terrors to tlie wind;Flies from her home, the humble sphereOf all her joys and sorrows here,Her fathers house of mountain-stone,And by a mountain-vine such an hour in such a night,So calm, so clear, so heavenly would have seen, and not confessedIt looked as all within were blest?What will not woman, when she loves ?Yet lost, a
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrogerssamue, bookcentury1800, bookidpoemssam00rogerich
