p again, and
gathered his limbs together, and got up in high good humour, and shook
himself and smiled, after his dismemberment, like one of the old
soldiers of the Walhalla--and they were never the worse friends.

So, turning his back upon the fiddles and tambourine, Gipsy Devereux
sauntered down to the river-bank, and to the osiers, where the ladies
are looking down the river, and a blue bell, not half so blue as her own
deep eyes, in Lilias's fingers; and the sound of their gay talk came
mixed with the twitter and clear evening songs of the small birds. By
those same osiers, that see so many things, and tell no tales, there
will yet be a parting. But its own sorrow suffices to the day. And now
it is a summer sunset, and all around dappled gold and azure, and sweet,
dreamy sounds; and Lilias turns her pretty head, and sees him;--and oh!
was it fancy, or did he see just a little flushing of the colour on her
cheek--and her lashes seemed to drop a little, and out came her frank
little hand. And Devereux leaned on the paling there, and chatted his
best sense and nonsense, I dare say; and they laughed and talked about
all sorts of things; and he sang for them a queer little snatch of a
ballad, of an enamoured captain, the course of whose true love ran not
smooth;--

The river ran between them,
And she looked upon the stream,
And the soldier looked upon her
As a dreamer on a dream.
'Believe me--oh! believe,'
He sighed, 'you peerless maid;
My honour is pure,
And my true love sure,
Like the white plume in my hat,
And my shining blade.'

The river ran between them,
And she smiled upon the stream,
Like one that smiles at folly--
A dreamer on a dream.
'I do not trust your promise,
I will not be betrayed;
For your faith is light,
And your cold wit bright,
Like the white plume in your hat,
And your shining blade.'

The river ran between them,
And he rode beside the stream,
And he turned away and parted,
As a dreamer from his dream.
And his comrade brought his message,
From the field where he was laid--
Just his name to repeat,
And to lay at her feet
The white plume from his hat
And his shining blade.[1]

And he sang it in a tuneful and plaintive tenor, that had power to make
rude and ridiculous things pathetic; and Aunt Rebecca thought he was
altogether very agreeable. But it was time she should see what