Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/203



. . . . . How the spirit clings To that which once it loved, with the same feeling That makes the traveller turn from his way To look upon some boyish haunt, though dark And very desolate grown, no longer like That which was dear to him.

was a low white church: the elm which grew Beside it shadowed half the roof; the clock Was placed where full the sun-beams fell;—what deep, Simple morality spoke in those hands, Going their way in silence, till a sound, Solemn and sweet, made their appeal to Time, And the hour spoke its only warning!—Strange To note how mute the soft song of the wren, Whose nest was in that old elm-tree, became When the clock struck: and when it ceased again,