heart of Rosilia; her respiration seemed impeded, and she sat for a time absorbed and motionless; till at last tear after tear chased each other down her cheeks, not tears such as contrition sheds,—no self-accusation mingled amidst the feelings that produced them, but tears, such as the pious shed when the soul, from a state of inquietude, subsides into a sweet calm,—when it awakes to consoling ideas, when, no longer disturbed by sublunary things, it looks up with hope, gratitude, and devotion to its Maker! Under the influence of such a benign resignation, Rosilia sunk to rest, unconscious of the midnight storm which raged around her.
At the first dawn of morning, Rosilia arose from her peaceful couch. All nature seemed to smile; the sun spread its enlivening beams over her chamber; the gushing waters without, and broken fragments that met her eye, evidently announced a recent storm. Delighted with the aspect of the morning, she pencilled the following effusion:
"Hail! beauteous morn! thy cheering light
Has chased the dark, tempestuous night;
The dim o'ershadowing gloom is gone;
The blasts have ceased their dismal moan;
Hush'd is the storm; the winds have ceased;
The sun breaks forth, from clouds released,
