Of all save one!-She fled not. Day by daySuch hours are woman's birthright-she, unknown, Kept watch beside him, fearless and alone; Binding his wounds, and oft in silence laving His brow with tears that mourn'd the strong man's raving. He felt them not, nor mark'd the light, veil'd form Still hovering nigh; yet sometimes, when that storm Of frenzy sank, her voice, in tones as low As a young mother's by the cradle singing, Would sooth him with sweet aves, gently bringing Moments of slumber, when the fiery glow Ebb'd from his hollow cheek. At last faint gleams Of memory dawn'd upon the cloud of dreams, And feebly lifting, as a child, his head, And gazing round him from his leafy bed, He murmur'd forth, "Where am I? What soft strain Pass'd, like a breeze, across my burning brain? Back from my youth it floated, with a tone But then Costanza rais'd the shadowy veil To say my heart hath bled, and can forgive. I loved thee with such worship, such deep trust As should be Heaven's alone and Heaven is just! I bless thee-be at peace!" But o'er his frame Too fast the strong tide rush'd—the sudden shame, The joy, th' amaze !-he bow'd his head-it fell On the wrong'd bosom which had lov'd so well; And love still perfect, gave him refuge there,His last faint breath just wav'd her floating hair. MADELINE. A DOMESTIC TALE.* Who should it be?-Where shouldst thou look for kindness? When we are sick where can we turn for succour, Where can we go to meet a warmer eye JOANNA BAILLIE. "My child, my child, thou leav'st me!-I shall hear The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear * Originally published in the Literary Souvenir for 1828. And thy soft-breathing hymn at twilight's close, And the low breeze will have a mournful tone Shalt watch thine own, thy pleasant land of France, When thou wert pillow'd there, and wont to raise That still sought mine : -those moments are gone by, Thou too must go, my flower!-Yet with thee dwell The peace of God!-One, one more gaze-farewell!" G |