White Sulphur papers; or, Life at the springs of Western Virginia

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THE MAID OF THE CASCADE. 133
There was a rock, that hung above the stream,
which softly flowed in beauty through the glade;
And where it stopped, what broke its quiet dream 1
The falhng waters of a bright cascade.
'Twas said if on that rock, engraven there
By maiden hand, a lover read his name,
That then by all most beautiful and fair,
Her hand !
her snow-white hand, he then could claim.
There she determined in a merry mood,
To write a name that none of them could read.
" 'Twill puzzle all," she said, " make a prelude
To other farces"—but now to proceed.
One evening, long before the sun had set
On foot alone, on sportive mischief bent.
This laugliing girl whom many called coquette,
Had reached the spot—too late then to repent.
As then she thought :
and now with light step stealing,
She trembling walks ; she pauses—looks around ;
But hush! what noise] it comes now revealing
No fearful thing;—the waters' murmuring sound.
One step ;
another :—she's there in her delight
Her trembhnghand with busy thoughts essayed
To write some name—when giddy from the height
She falls in the basin of the bright cascade.
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