Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/168

168 And paler than that ashen corse, her face, Half by a flood of ebon tresses hid, Droop'd o'er the old nurse's shoulder. It was sad, To see a young heart bursting, while the old Sank to its rest. There came another change; The mournful bell toll'd out the funeral hour, And many a foot throng'd where the sable hearse Tarried. Friendship was there, with heavy heart, Keen Curiosity intent to scan The lofty mansion,—and gaunt Worldliness Even o'er the coffin and the warning shroud, Revolving his vile schemes. And one was there To whom this earth could render nothing back Like that pale piece of clay. Calmly she stood, As marble statue. The old house dog came, Pressing his rough head to her snowy palm, All unreprov'd. He for his master mourn'd, And could she spurn that faithful friend, who oft His shaggy length through many a fire-side hour Stretch'd at her father's feet, and round his bed Of death had watch'd, with wondering, wishful eye, In fear and sympathy? No! on his neck Her orphan tear had fallen, and by her side His noble front he rear'd, as proud to guard The last lov'd relic of his master's house. There was a calmness on that mourner's brow, Ill understood by many a lawless glance Of whispering gossip. Of her sire they spake, Who suffered scarce the breath of heaven to stir The tresses of his darling, and who deemed