. . .n a rock where never verdure grew,
Too wild even for the wild sea-mew
To build her slender nest!
[Pg 57] Sublime is the faith of a lonely soul,
In pain and trouble cherish'd;
Sublime the spirit of hope that lives,
When earthly hope has perish'd.
And where doth that blest faith abide?
O! not in Man's stern nature: human pride
Inhabits there, and oft by virtue led,
Pride though it be, it doth a glory shed,
That makes the world we mortal beings tread,
In chosen spots, resplendent as the Heaven!
But to yon gentle Maiden turn,
Who never for herself doth mourn,
And own that faith's undying urn
Is but to woman given.
Now that the shade of sorrow falls
Across her life, and duty calls,
Her spirit burns with a fervent glow,
And stately through the gloom of woe
Behold her alter'd form arise,
Like a priestess at a sacrifice.
[Pg 58] The to. . . Read More