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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.
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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.
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But there she sat with drooping head,
By stern misfortune darkly bound,
By holy light unvisited,
And silent mid a world of sound.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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;
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With order's unobtrusive charm
Her simple wardrobe to dispose,
To press of guiding care the arm,
And rove where autumn's bounty flows;
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With touch so exquisitely true
That vision stands astonish'd by,
To recognise with ardor due
Some friend or benefactor nigh;
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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.
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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;
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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.
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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?
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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;
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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.
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Say, who shall with magician's wand
That elemental mass compose,
Where young affections slumber fond
Like germs unwaked mid wintry snows ?
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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 ?
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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;
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That she, whose pilgrimage below
Was night that never hoped a morn,
That undeclining day may known
Which of eternity is born.
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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;
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When the chain'd tongue, forbid to pour
The broken melodies of time,
Shall to the highest numbers soar
Of everlasting praise sublime:
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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.
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