HE little gate was reached at last, Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she past, A wistful look she backward cast, And said, "Auf wiedersehen!" With hand on latch, a vision white Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said, "Auf wiedersehen!" The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; I linger in delicious pain; AUF WIEDERSEHEN! Ah! in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said, "Auf wiedersehen!" 231 AN EMBER PICTURE. J. RUSSELL LOWELL. OW strange are the freaks of memory! Set by some mordant of fancy, A chance had brought us together; AN EMBER PICTURE. 233 Arrived at her door, we left her With a drippingly hurried adieu, And our wheels went crunching the gravel As we drove away through the shadow, The candle she held at the door From rain-varnished tree-trunk to tree-trunk Flashed fainter, then wholly faded Before we had passed the wood; But the light of the face behind it Went with me and stayed for good. Had she beauty? Well, not what they call so ; With no special claim to be there. 234 AN EMBER PICTURE. As I sit sometimes in the twilight, And call back to life in the coals Old faces and hopes and fancies Long buried (good rest to their souls!)- Her face shines out in the embers; I see her holding the light, And hear the crunch of the gravel, And the sweep of the rain that night. |