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182
A PORTRAIT.
IN MEMORIAM.
A maiden young, and beautiful as young,
As fair as ever haunted poet's dream,
Or in his tuneful measures has been sung;
Her charming presence, like a sunny gleam,
Brightness and blessedness around her flung,
And white her thoughts as lilies on a stream.
Her clear, calm eyes were of the morning's blue,—
They met yours with a gaze both frank and true,
And from their depths of azure forth there stole
The talismanic sunlight of the soul.
As fair as ever haunted poet's dream,
Or in his tuneful measures has been sung;
Her charming presence, like a sunny gleam,
Brightness and blessedness around her flung,
And white her thoughts as lilies on a stream.
Her clear, calm eyes were of the morning's blue,—
They met yours with a gaze both frank and true,
And from their depths of azure forth there stole
The talismanic sunlight of the soul.
So moved she through the world, a shape of light,
Like some pure spirit from another sphere,
Robed in the hues of loveliness,—so bright,—
It seemed in her that God would make it clear
What perfect woman is, to human sight,
And for this purpose partly sent her here.
Her every movement had a nameless grace,
The soul of goodness shone upon her face;
And lovelier far than any tongue can speak,
The smile that rippled on her virgin cheek.
Like some pure spirit from another sphere,
Robed in the hues of loveliness,—so bright,—
It seemed in her that God would make it clear
What perfect woman is, to human sight,
And for this purpose partly sent her here.
183
The soul of goodness shone upon her face;
And lovelier far than any tongue can speak,
The smile that rippled on her virgin cheek.
She had a silver laugh, so sweet and clear,
That you might well imagine it to be
The echo of faint music wafted near
From dulcet lutes,—one of those things that we
Would fain have linger on the enamoured ear,
And 'neath whose charm the heart throbs audibly;
Sweeter her voice than bird's of eve, whose song
Floateth the stillness of the night along,
Yet gentle, low, such as may best express
The magic depth of woman's tenderness.
That you might well imagine it to be
The echo of faint music wafted near
From dulcet lutes,—one of those things that we
Would fain have linger on the enamoured ear,
And 'neath whose charm the heart throbs audibly;
Sweeter her voice than bird's of eve, whose song
Floateth the stillness of the night along,
Yet gentle, low, such as may best express
The magic depth of woman's tenderness.
The world was nought to her,—its pleasant ways
She soon surrendered,—gave up all for Christ;
Not here her heart,—on Him she fixed her gaze,
For He, and He alone, her soul sufficed;
She lived for deeds of love, for prayer and praise,
And nought from these her constant soul enticed.
O happy Maid! whose feet for ever trod
The narrow path that upward led to God!
When came the voice to summon her away,
Ready was she to answer,—“Yea, Lord, yea!”
She soon surrendered,—gave up all for Christ;
Not here her heart,—on Him she fixed her gaze,
For He, and He alone, her soul sufficed;
She lived for deeds of love, for prayer and praise,
And nought from these her constant soul enticed.
184
The narrow path that upward led to God!
When came the voice to summon her away,
Ready was she to answer,—“Yea, Lord, yea!”
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