One unremember'd being, whom the World

Deserted, and Repentance rack'd to death.

In beauty radiant as a dream of love,

From the damp earth behold her rise!-her robe All fair and stainless as a new-born flower;

Not Eve more heavenly seem'd, when on the lake She gazed, that glass'd her perfect self.—To walk The sphere of life, impassion'd forth she came, And where she moved a thousand hearts adored;

But he who won her warm in virgin truth,

Belied his homage, and betray'd her trust;

Then, like a haunted tomb amid the world

The erring maid was shunn'd, and saw, where'er

She fled to weep, th' accusing eye of Scorn ;

Till far

away, from all her scene of woe

The unlamented mourner came, with griefs

Like thunder-scars upon her soul engraved !

In a lone hamlet all retired she dwelt,

In meekness and remorse: but sorrow taught

Her kindliness to bloom, and by the Poor

A heaven-born lady she was deem'd-for all

Her smiles beam'd forth for them, and them alone!

Among the hermit walks, and ancient woods

When mantled with the melancholy glow

Of eve, she wander'd oft; and when the wind,

Like a stray infant down autumnal dales

Roam'd wailingly, she loved to mourn and muse;

To commune with the lonely orphan flowers,
And through sweet Nature's ruin trace her own.

But through the churchyard's silent range to roam

Was her most saddening joy: oft was she seen

Like a pale statue o'er some mossy tomb

To bend, and look as if she wept the dead;

And when the day-gleam faded o'er far hills,
She gazed with such a look as Love would mark
Some parting smile, to treasure it when gone!

And when the moonlight all the air entranced,

How from the window she would watch the heavens,

Till in her eye an adoration shone;

Poor lady! then her thoughts grew into tears,

And every tear ran burning from her heart!

Thus day by day her unpartaken grief

Was nursed, till it became a sleepless fire

That sear'd her soul! One evening while she sat

And smiled upon the starry worlds, her face

Angelically seem'd to glow,—and like

A fainting sound her spirit fled to heaven!

Upon the mountain, with thy glowing cheek,

And soul outlooking from the lifted eye,

As if it glanced the beauty of a thought,

Why, who art thou, undaunted by the storm

In rolling anthems round thee gather'd? Clouds

Swell black, and underneath the Ocean roars

As though her waves were all to whirlpools lash'd!

Yet canopied with thunder, there thou stand'st,

Until the storm of genius whelms thy soul,

And trembles through thy being! Art thou not A Spirit tempest-born, and on the rock

Enthroned, to parley with the thunder-peals?

Thou wert not moulded for the selfish world;

Too lofty and too full of heavenly fire

E'er to be measured by ungifted minds,

Whom glory hath not raised. Ambition rock'd
Thy cradle, genius all thine infant soul

Etherealized, and in the rich-orb'd eye