... The morning dew-drop,
With all its pearliness and diamond form
Vanisheth.
* * * * *
... She turned her from the gate, and walked
As quietly into her father's hall,
As though her lover had been true. No trace
Of disappointment or of hate was found
Upon the maiden's brow: but settled calm,
And dignity unequalled. And they spoke
To her, and she did mildly answer them
And smiled: and smiling, seem'd so like an angel,
That you would think the man who could desert
A form so lovely, after he had won
Her warm affections, must be more than demon.
And though she shrunk not from the love of those
Who were around her, and was never found
In fretful mood--yet did they soon discover
The rosy tinge upon her youthful cheek
Concentrate all its radiance into one
Untimely spot, and her too delicate frame
Wither away beneath the false one's power.
But lovelier yet, and brighter still she grew
Though Death was near at hand--as the moon looks
Most lovely as she sinks within the sea.
Her fond devoted parents watch with care
The fatal enemy: friends and physicians
Exert their skill most faithfully. Alas!
Could Love or Friendship bind a broken heart,
The fading flower might be recalled to life.
* * * * *
She's gone, where she will chant the melody
Of Seraphim _and live_--beyond the power
Of the base. Then weep not, childless parents, weep not,--
But think to meet her soon. Her smile is yet
More lovely now than when a child of earth:
For she has caught the ray of dazzling glory
And sweet divinity, that beams all bright
Upon her Saviour's face; and waits to cast
That smile on thee.