 | Golden Histories, etc |  |
223
The Two Sisters
Awake! awake! the royal hills
Are diademed with rosy light,
The forests murmur, warbling rills
Leap, flashing, down the height.
Are diademed with rosy light,
The forests murmur, warbling rills
Leap, flashing, down the height.
Where stately trees like pillars rise,
A child is kneeling on the sod,
Her face is gazing on the skies,
Her heart is fixed on God.
A child is kneeling on the sod,
Her face is gazing on the skies,
Her heart is fixed on God.
Her prayer is said, she rises now,
She seeks the dear familiar bower,
Shadowed by many a leafy bough,
Perfumed by many a flower.
She seeks the dear familiar bower,
Shadowed by many a leafy bough,
Perfumed by many a flower.
With fingers pale the bridal vine
Still clasps her forest lord, and strays
Where warm voluptuous sunbeams shine,
A thousand various ways;
Still clasps her forest lord, and strays
Where warm voluptuous sunbeams shine,
A thousand various ways;
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Or drops the curtain, that she weaves,
In folds before that temple fair:
A lovely tapestry of leaves,
That stirs with every air.
In folds before that temple fair:
A lovely tapestry of leaves,
That stirs with every air.
The child approacht the lone retreat,
With quickened step and eager eye;
She called—Awake! O sister, sweet!
But there was no reply.
With quickened step and eager eye;
She called—Awake! O sister, sweet!
But there was no reply.
She drew the leafy veil apart,
She looked above, but nothing said,
And entering with a beating heart,
She stood before the dead.
She looked above, but nothing said,
And entering with a beating heart,
She stood before the dead.
Alone and with the Dead she stood,
The Dead, asleep among the flowers,
That yesternight her hand had strew'd,
Marked not the changing hours.
The Dead, asleep among the flowers,
That yesternight her hand had strew'd,
Marked not the changing hours.
She knew not it was morning prime,
Shall never know the silent noon,
Shall never heed the twilight time,
Nor chronicle the moon.
Shall never know the silent noon,
Shall never heed the twilight time,
Nor chronicle the moon.
A broken lily in her hand,
A drooping rose on drooping head;
Even Nature seemed to understand
Her queenliest flower lay dead.
A drooping rose on drooping head;
Even Nature seemed to understand
Her queenliest flower lay dead.
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The Child, with aspect sad and still,
Stood gazing at her sister's side,
Content, if it had been God's will,
That moment to have died.
Stood gazing at her sister's side,
Content, if it had been God's will,
That moment to have died.
She felt like Eve, when Eden's gate
Had closed on her for evermore,
She felt that life was desolate,
That Paradise was o'er.
Had closed on her for evermore,
She felt that life was desolate,
That Paradise was o'er.
Then drop the curtain, fold by fold,
Over the consecrated Bower,
And veil from curious eyes and cold
The dead and living Flower.
Over the consecrated Bower,
And veil from curious eyes and cold
The dead and living Flower.
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