Each new eve, from youth and maiden,
Softer cadences are heard.

Each new morn her heart beat warmer,
Dreaming o'er his tale of love;
Each new eve, that tale repeated,
Brighter spells around her wove.

At the early, early daybreak,
To caress her as she slept,
Greetingly, the light spring zephyr
Through her open lattice crept.

Roving mid the golden tangles
Of her tresses' braidless flow,
Nestling in the half-veiled dimples
Of her bosom white as snow.

Mingling with her fragrant breathing,
Closely to her ear it came,
Murm'ring to her gentle dreaming,
In sweet music, his dear name.

"Through the valley, o'er the mountain,"
Sang the zephyr in her ear,
"At my own sweet will, I wander
All the loving, livelong year.

"With the lowly, tender grass-blade,
With the solemn, stately trees,
With each swelling bud and blossom
Sport I ever as I please.

"All the humble wayside flowers--
Daisy, king-cup, light harebell;
All the tall and proud ones--Kalmia,
Rose, and orchis--know me well.

"Of the brightest, sweetest flower-buds,
Sheltered by the mountain's brow,
Blooming in the wide, wide valley,
Loveliest of them all art thou.

"That is why he loves thee dearly,
Modest, gentle as thou art,
The proud lord of wood and manor
The proud lord of thy young heart.

"Oh, I heard a song last evening,
Sung to tremulous guitar,
Through the yellow, mellow moonlight,
Floating on the air afar;

"Breathing warmest, truest passion
For one bearing thy sweet name,
Telling of that passion thwarted
Bending unto station's claim:

"Telling how the claim of station
Must at last be overborne,
By a will and faith unyielding,
By a love no time can turn.

"'I must see her at the day-dawn,'
Sighed he, at the ballad's close,
'By the brook in the still copse-wood,
Where the purple violet grows.'"