She entered in, like Eve in Paradise
    Searching for Adam; and yet, oft beguiled
    From the great love-thought, by the sights she saw. 
    If she glanced upward to the sparkling dome,
    The lamps, swinging like suns as far above,
    Shone down upon her beautiful young face,
    Smiling to see them dwarfed within her eyes. 
    The crystal floor doubled her bashful feet;
    She saw no walls; but the refulgent space
    Was here and there disturbed by artful groups. 
    Once, by a fountain passing, dulcet murmurs,
    Wooed her aside to listen; and, again,
    Temples, which mimicked the frost’s fairy work,
    Burning with gems, attracted her to gaze. 
    Music, from hidden sources, beat the air
    With wings of melody that flew abroad
    Beyond th’ enchanted sense, and darting back
    Swept with a sweet vibration near her face. 
    Thrice o’er her brow she drew her languid hand,
    That, if it were a dream, she might dispel
    The gay enchantment; and thrice murmured o’er
    The spells learned of her nurse in infancy,
    Which would all witchcraft render innocent;
    But that great cavern of the northern world
    Was not by nurse’s spells to be dissolved,
    Growing more wond’rous, as she wondered more.

    Now, ’neath her feet, the floor less polished grew,
    And fountains dashed from the unsculptured rock;
    She saw half-finished grottoes, fewer lights,
    And heard a discord in the melody
    As if of hammers and the shouts of workmen;
    Meanwhile her heart loudly began to beat.

    “BERTHO!  I have come, BERTHO!” she cried out,
    As the next moment, ’mid a swarthy group
    Of dusky laborers, a familiar form
    Raised itself from a shaft of phorphyry,
    And turned itself to hear that throbbing heart.

    A light too glad for smiles came o’er the face,
    The shadowy face, uplifted from its toil,
    And, “Olive!” echoed back her eager cry.

    The fairest sight that cavern ever saw
    Was that young girl holding her glowing arms
    To clasp her love; her sweet mouth all a-tremble,
    Her dark eyes flashing joy and tender tears,
    Her bosom fluttering in its snowy folds
    With sudden pleasure;—­but, what clasped she? 
    A shadow!  Pale and silent she shrank back;
    Her lover folded up his hopeless arms;
    His face a melancholy so profound put on
    That Olive to his side again drew near.

    “Is this one mystery of this mystic world—­
    This world of phantoms?” sighed the stricken girl. 
    “Oh! why did hope keep life within my breast,
    And passion thrill me with strange fortitude? 
    Why did I save the kisses of my lips
    For him who nevermore can give them back? 
    Why did I smile to think my arms were soft