60
POEMS.
Locks of torn hair; and still in frantic tone
Of mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,
I raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,
Of perjured love, false Friends, and trust betrayed,
And curst in bitter grief and fury vain
Man's flinty heart, and woman's fickle brain.
Of mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,
I raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,
Of perjured love, false Friends, and trust betrayed,
And curst in bitter grief and fury vain
Man's flinty heart, and woman's fickle brain.
When lo! as thus in maniac state I lay,
A Matron tow'rds me won her easy way[1].
With solemn step She moved: Her robes of white
Of vestal-make, though not so dazzling bright,
Were pure as Virtue's own and o'er her head
A cyprus veil in decent guise was spread,
Fixt on her forehead by a sacred wreath,
And past in graceful folds her chin beneath.
Inspiring awe, but awe unmixed with fear,
Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clear
From wrinkles, spoke [though pale] a heart, which ne'er
Had known the withering touch of guilt or care.
A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reigned,
In her right hand She bore: Her left sustained
A Matron tow'rds me won her easy way[1].
With solemn step She moved: Her robes of white
Of vestal-make, though not so dazzling bright,
Were pure as Virtue's own and o'er her head
A cyprus veil in decent guise was spread,
Fixt on her forehead by a sacred wreath,
And past in graceful folds her chin beneath.
Inspiring awe, but awe unmixed with fear,
Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clear
From wrinkles, spoke [though pale] a heart, which ne'er
Had known the withering touch of guilt or care.
A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reigned,
In her right hand She bore: Her left sustained
- ↑ Gray.
