A crash of boughs!— one through them breaking!
Mercy is startled, and fain would fly,
But e'en as she turns, her steps o'ertaking,
He pleads with her — “Mercy, it is but I!”
“Mercy!” he touches her hand unbidden —
“The air is balmy, I pray you stay —
Mercy?” Her downcast eyes are hidden,
And never a word she has to say.
Till closer drawn, her prison'd fingers
He takes to his lips with a yearning strong;
And she murmurs low, that late she lingers,
Her mother will want her, and think her long.
“Good mother is she, then honor duly
The lightest wish in her heart that stirs;
But there is a bond yet dearer truly,
And there is a love that passeth hers.
“Mercy, Mercy!” Her heart attendeth —
Love's birthday blush on her brow lies sweet;
She turns her face when his own he bendeth,
And the lips of the youth and the maiden meet.