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She sate beneath the leafy shade
Where young birds chirp'd in leafy cell,
Where wild flowers deck'd the mossy glade,
And tuneful waters murmuring fell.

And smile and song and mirth were there,
While youth and joy fresh garlands wove,
And white-robed forms, with tresses fair,
Were gliding through the enchanted grove.

But there she sat with drooping head,
By stern misfortune darkly bound,
By holy light unvisited,
And silent mid a world of sound.

Chain'd down to solitary gloom,
No sense of quick delight was there,
Save when the blossom's rich perfume
Came floating on the scented air.

She rose, and sadly sought her home
Where with the voiceless train she dwelt,
'Neath charity's majestic dome,
For bounteous hearts her sorrows felt.

But while her mute companions share
Those joys that ne'er await the blind,
A moral night of deep despair
Descending shrouds her lonely mind.

For not to her, Creation lends
Or blush of morn or beaming moon,
Nor pitying Knowledge makes amends
For step-dame Nature's stinted boon.

Yet deem not, though so dark her path,
Heaven strew'd no comfort o'er her lot,
Or in its bitter cup of wrath
The healing drop of balm forgot.

No! still with unambitious mind
The needle's patient task to ply,
At the full board her place to find,
Or close in sleep the placid eye;

With order's unobtrusive charm
Her simple wardrobe to dispose,
To press of guiding care the arm,
And rove where autumn's bounty flows;

With touch so exquisitely true
That vision stands astonish'd by,
To recognise with ardor due
Some friend or benefactor nigh;

Her hand mid childhood's curls to place,
From fragrant buds the breath to steal,
Of stranger-guest the brow to trace,
Are pleasures left for her to feel.

And often o'er her hour of thought
Will burst a laugh of wildest glee,
As if the living gems she caught
On wit's fantastic drapery;

As if, at length, relenting skies,
In pity to her doom severe,
Had bade a mimic morning rise,
The chaos of the soul to cheer.

But who, with energy divine,
May tread that undiscover'd maze,
Where Nature in her curtain'd shrine
The strange and new-born thought surveys?

Where quick Perception shrinks to find
On eye and ear the envious seal,
And wild ideas throng the mind,
That palsied speach must ne'er reveal;

Where Instinct, like a robber bold,
Steals sever'd links from Reason's chain,
And, leaping o'er her barrier cold,
Proclaims the proud precaution vain.

Say, who shall with magician's wand
That elemental mass compose,
Where young affections slumber fond
Like germs unwaked mid wintry snows ?

Who, in that undecipher'd scroll,
The mystic characters may see,
Save He who reads the secret soul,
And holds of life and death the key?

Then, on thy midnight lit journey roam,
Poor wandering child of rayless gloom,
And to thy last and narrow home,
Drop gently from this living tomb.

Yes, -- uninterpreted and drear,
Toil onward with benighted mind,
Still kneel at prayers thou canst not hear,
And grope for truth thou mayst not find.

No scroll of friendship, or of love,
Must breathe soft language o'er thy heart:
Nor that blest Book which guides above,
Its message to thy soul impart.

But Thou who didst on Calvary die,
Flows not thy mercy wide and free?
Thou who didst rend of Death the tie,
Is Nature's seal too strong for thee ?

And thou, oh Spirit pure! whose rest
Is with the lowly contrite train,
Illume the temple of her breast,
And cleanse of latent ill the stain;

That she, whose pilgrimage below
Was night that never hoped a morn,
That undeclining day may known
Which of eternity is born.

The great transition who can tell?
When from the ear its seal shall part,
Where countless lyres seraphic swell,
And holy transport thrills the heart;

When the chain'd tongue, forbid to pour
The broken melodies of time,
Shall to the highest numbers soar
Of everlasting praise sublime:

When those veil'd orbs, which ne'er might trace
The features of their kindred clay,
Shall scan, Deity, the face,
And glow with rapture's deathless ray.