With bow and quiver at their side,
Where Spring, through greenwood arches, late
Made entry in triumphal state.
Forth from the oak the nightingale
Strikes out her song that fills the vale —
Soft, innocent, and pure that strain,
As some sweet lyric of Franzén.
In all, it seemed as Nature said,
'Behold, the hour for tryst is made !'
All life, yet silence so complete,
Thou mightst have heard her great heart beat. —
Then, conscious of the happy charm,
The youthful pair walked arm in arm.
As plighted lovers rings, so these
Exchanged their childhood's memories.
He talked of bright days when he dwelt
'Neath the red roof maternal, built
Of the hewn fir-tree, and that rose
Among the pines mid Northern snows ;