The charm is wrought! that painted gleam
Brought up the lines impressed of yore,
As flash of the bright morning beam
On twilight things seen long before.
Her mother seemed from death returned;
She kissed the lips, the cheeks, the chin;
She sobbed, she sighed, she laughed--she mourned
To think it was a painted sign;
And then at last she turned it round,
As if she feared her sire's decree,
And there, in written words, she found
The dreaded curse of Dowielee:
THE CURSE.
"Than Olive who more beautiful
In all that nature could bestow?
Than Olive who more dutiful
When first she pledged that holy vow?
What is she now, by sin entoiled?
Dark spirits of yon woods declare,
Where I in anguish wander wild,
The victim of a dark despair.
"Thank Heaven, I leave no son my heir,
Who might another Olive see,
And think her as his mother fair--
Fair, but yet a mystery--
With heart so like some alcove deep,
Where nightingales may sing their song,
And roses blow, and--serpents creep,
To sting him as I have been stung.
"The secrets of the living rock,
Deep hid from man's divining rod,
A spark may open, and the shock
Bring forth an ingot or a toad:
The secret that is kept for years,
One stroke of fate yields to the sight;
And if the toad a jewel wears,
That jewel may have lost its light.
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