Of all save one !-She fled not. Day by day Such 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 Did aught that smiled so much of sadness wear— 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, MADELINE. A DOMESTIC TALE.* Who should it be?-Where shouldst thou look for kindness? 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, G |