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To smile and sigh, to love and change:
Oh, in our heart's recesses,
THE LORD OF BURLEIGH.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.
In her ear he whispers gaily,
"If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watched thee daily, And I think thou lov'st me well." She replies, in accents fainter,
66 There is none I love like thee." He is but a landscape-painter,
And a village maiden she. He to lips, that fondly falter,
Presses his without reproof: Leads her to the village altar,
And they leave her father's roof.
• I can make no marriage present :
See the lordly castles stand:
Hears him lovingly converse, Sees whatever fair and splendid
Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady,
Parks and order'd gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady,
Built for pleasure and for state.
All he shows her makes him dearer :
Evermore she seems to gaze On that cottage growing nearer,
Where they twain will spend their days.
O but she will love him truly!
He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly,
When beneath his roof they come.
Till a gateway she discerns
Than all those she saw before:
Bows before him at the door. And they speak in gentle murmur, When they answer to his call,
While he treads with footsteps firmer,
"All of this is mine and thine."
Is so great a lord as he.
Her sweet face from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes, And her spirit changed within. Then her countenance all over
Pale again as death did
And he cheer'd her soul with love.
So she strove against her weakness,