Weeks floated by, when Hubert said
"The arrow to its mark hath sped.
I need not ask, good Emiline,
How thrive these cooing doves of thine;
For well I see, a stronger net
Ne'er caught two tender lovers yet."
Said Emiline, "They arc not caught.
Friends they may be—but, lovers—not,"
"Not lovers?" "No, at least, not he."
"No lover?" "No, and ne'er will be."
Dark Hubert frowned—"No lover! How!
What foolish thought hath crossed thee now?
If he's no lover, whence the change
Hath o'er him come, so marked and strange?
Why doth he all companions shun,
And wander thoughtful and alone,
All ease and social converse gone?
And how could man unmelted be—
So close—so frequent—with Marie?"
"I know not; 'tis not mine to say
What freaks the little god can play.
But Ulric hath a heart and soul,
Of fancy and of feeling full.
Hath intellect and taste refined—
A poet's eye—a scholar's mind—
A being of a higher kind.
Marie, in truth, hath beauty—grace—
A gentle heart—a pretty face;
But she's not bright, and scarce will prove
Worthy—I fear—of Ulric's love."
"Worthy! ha! ha! How women prate!
Worthy! but look at her estate!
Ulric is not a simple fool;
Reason, not passion, ts his rule;
Life, as it is, he knows to take.
Not he a whining swain, to break
His heart, and into follies run,
For some imagined paragon,
Whom, after all, at last he'll find,
The honeymoon once left behind,
Just like the rest of womankind,
By sober daylight seen,
Except the eyes. which pierced him through,
May hazel be, or black, or blue,
Heaven save the mark! or green."
"But hushand"—"Nonsense!" Hubert said,
"Thou dost not see—thou art misled.
My life upon't! they're groom and bride,
Have pledged them by thy very side,
And smile in secret, as they mark
How well they keep thee in the dark.
With me they'll find less easy play,
My life upon't! what plans to-day?"
"Upon the Fischerberge, whose height
Presents the lawn so smooth and bright,
Where spreads the oak-grove's shadowy screen,
O'er mossy meadows velvet green,
Our guests to banquet meet;
There, to enjoy the afternoon,
The landscape wide, the setting sun,
The evening’s breath, the rising moon,
The breezes cool that ever play
Throughout the hottest summer day,
So delicate and sweet,
And the delicious linden bough
There sheds its thickest odors now."
"'Tis well! Tis well! and have a care
The host is honored by the fare;
And amply grace a generous feast
With wine, and of our very best.
For Ulric—let him fairly dine,
When exercise, and air, and wine,
The ardent blood in movement set,
And make the wisest one forget
To check the thought that, half supprest,
Escapes the careless—guarded breast,
Choose thou a time, and idly rove
With him—alone—to some far grove,
There hold him—as by chance—apart,
And probe the secret of his heart.
From thee he will not hide his thought.
Loves he Marie—or loves he not?"
"But husband, is it proper task,
For me, with artless friendship's mask,
Into his secret heart to pry,
And play the traitor and the spy?"
"Tush! Tush! How often and how long
Will women prate of right and wrong!
Do as thow'rt bid! The fault be mine!
And mark me one thing, Emiline!
Whisper not thou to Ulric's mind,
Of pretty Marie ought unkind.
He values thy opinion there,
And might be swayed—so have a care!"
"I'll do my best, my husband dear,
Thy anxious point to gain;
But yet, I must confess, I fear
There is no great attraction here.
Thou chasest now too fleet a deer!
And all will be in vain!"