ON SEEING A YOUNG LADY AT HER DEVOTIONS.
She knelt, and her dark blue eye was raised,—
A sacred fire in its bright beam blazed,
And it spread o'er her cold pale cheek a light
So pure and so sacred, so clear and so bright,
That Parian marble, though glittering fair
'Neath the moon's pale beam or the sun's broad glare,
Were far less sweet, though more dazzlingly bright,
Than that cold cheek arrayed in its halo of light.
O! I love not the dark rosy hue of the sky
When the bright blush of morn mantles deeply and high,
But my fond soul adores the pure author of light,
The 'more when she looks on the broad brow of night;
On myriads of stars glitt'ring far through the sky,
Like the bright eyes of saints looking down from on high
From their garden of Paradise, blooming in heaven,
On the scene sleeping sweet 'neath the calm smile of even.
A sacred fire in its bright beam blazed,
And it spread o'er her cold pale cheek a light
So pure and so sacred, so clear and so bright,
That Parian marble, though glittering fair
'Neath the moon's pale beam or the sun's broad glare,
Were far less sweet, though more dazzlingly bright,
Than that cold cheek arrayed in its halo of light.
O! I love not the dark rosy hue of the sky
When the bright blush of morn mantles deeply and high,
But my fond soul adores the pure author of light,
The 'more when she looks on the broad brow of night;
On myriads of stars glitt'ring far through the sky,
Like the bright eyes of saints looking down from on high
From their garden of Paradise, blooming in heaven,
On the scene sleeping sweet 'neath the calm smile of even.
I love not the cheek which speaks slumber unbroken;
That heart hath ne'er sighed o'er hope's fast fading token;
That heart hath ne'er sighed o'er hope's fast fading token;
