 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
11.
Grace Talbot! in her pride of placeShe had been called the Lady Grace.
And since her gentle mother died,—
The daughter then was only seven—
She had been taught to foster pride,
As though high birth might be allied,
Or rather was, to rank in heaven!
Her stern, cold father loved her not,
And often murmured at the lot
That gave no son to swell the fame
And honors of the Talbot name.
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His selfish soul was gratified;
He saw her wondrous beauty's power
Would be the prop to raise his pride—
As vine the bending tree sustains,
And with its foliage hides the stains—
And she should wed, to please her sire,
A noble duke with vast estate;
Ah! her destiny was higher,
Far, far above the worldly great.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |