THE MOURNING DAUGHTER.
��WHEELS o'er the pavement roll'cl, and a slight form, Just in the bud of blushing womanhood, Reach 'd the paternal threshold. Wrathful night Muffled the timid stars, and rain-drops hung On that fair creature's rich and glossy curls. She stood and shiver'd, but no mother's hand Dry'd those damp tresses, and with warm caress Sustain 'd the weary spirit. No, that hand Was with the cold, dull earth-worm.
Grey and sad,
The tottering nurse rose up, and that old man, The soldier-servant who had train'd the steeds Of her slain brothers for the battle-field, Essay 'd to lead her to the couch of pain, Where her sick father pined.
Oft had he yearn 'd
For her sweet presence, oft in midnight's watch, Mus'd of his dear one's smile, till dreams restor'd The dove-like dalliance of her ruby lip,
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