Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 20 1827.pdf/5



And life return'd, Life, but with all its memories of the Dead, To Edith's heart; and well the sufferer learn'd Her task of meek endurance, well she wore The chasten'd grief that humbly can adore Midst blinding tears.—But unto that old pair, Ev'n as a breath of spring's awakening air, Her presence was; or as a sweet wild tune, Bringing back tender thoughts, which all too soon Depart with childhood.—Sadly they had seen A daughter to the Land of Spirits go, And ever from that time, her fading mien, And voice, like winds of summer, soft and low, Had haunted their dim years; but Edith's face Now look'd in holy sweetness from her place, And they again seem'd parents.—Oh! the joy, The rich, deep blessedness,—though Earth's alloy, Fear that still bodes, be there,—of pouring forth The heart's whole power of love, its wealth and worth Of strong affections, in one healthful flow On something all its own!—that kindly glow Which to shut inward is consuming pain, Gives the glad soul its flowering time again, When, like the sunshine, freed.—And gentle cares Th' adopted Edith, meekly gave for theirs, Who lov'd her thus:—her spirit dwelt, the while, With the Departed, and her patient smile Spoke of farewells to earth; yet still she pray'd E'en o'er her soldier's lowly grave, for aid One purpose to fulfil, to leave one trace Brightly recording that her dwelling-place Had been among the wilds; for well she knew The secret whisper of her bosom true, Which warn'd her hence.

And now, by many a word Link'd unto moments when the heart was stirr'd; By the sweet mournfulness of many a hymn, Sung when the woods at eve grew hush'd and dim; By the persuasion of her fervent eye, All eloquent with child-like piety; By the still beauty of her life, she strove To win for Heaven, and heaven-born truth, the love Pour'd out on her so freely. Nor in vain Was that soft breathing influence to enchain The soul in gentle bonds: by slow degrees Light follow'd on, as when a summer-breeze Parts the deep masses of the forest-shade, And lets the sunbeam through: her voice was made Ev'n such a breeze; and she, a lowly guide By faith and sorrow raised and purified, So to the Cross her Indian fosterers led, Until their prayers were one:—When morning spread O'er the blue lake, and when the sunset's glow Touch'd into golden bronze the cypress-bough, And when the quiet of the Sabbath-time Sank on her heart, though no melodious chime Waken'd the wilderness, their prayers were one: —Now might she pass in Hope, her work was done.

And she was passing from the woods away; The broken flower of England might not stay