Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/223

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And smile, and song, and mirth were there, While youth and joy their tissue wove, And white robed forms, with tresses fair Gay glided 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 floweret's rich perfume Came floating on the scented air.

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

But while her mute companions share Those joys which 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 her bitter cup of wrath The healing drop of balm forgot.