“There’s not a star that shines above
      But pours on her a partial ray;
    Endearments, like maternal love,
      Her love to Nature’s self repay.

    “Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart,
      Close interlace the angel arm;
    And with caresses heal the smart
      Of every care, and every harm.

    “Amid the wealth, amid the blaze
      Of luxury and pomp around,
    How poor is all the eye surveys
      To what we know of fairy ground!”

    She ceases, and her tears flow fast—­
    O! can this fit of softness last,
    Which, so unlook’d for, comes to share
    The sickly triumph of despair? 
    Upon the harp her head is thrown,
    All round is like a vision flown;
    And o’er a billowy surge her mind
    Views lost delight left far behind.

THE LAY OF MARIE.

Canto second.

    Some, fearing Marie’s tale was o’er,
    Lamented that they heard no more;
    While Brehan, from her broken lay,
    Portended what she yet might say. 
    As the untarrying minutes flew,
    More anxious and alarm’d he grew. 
    At length he spake:—­“We wait too long
    The remnant of this wilder’d song! 
    And too tenaciously we press
    Upon the languor of distress! 
    ’Twere better, sure that hence convey’d,
    And in some noiseless chamber laid,
    Attentive care, and soothing rest,
    Appeas’d the anguish of her breast.”

    Low was his voice, but Marie heard: 
    He hasten’d on the thing he fear’d. 
    She rais’d her head, and, with deep sighs,
    Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes;
    And, ere they dried upon her cheek,
    Before she gather’d force to speak,
    Convulsively her fingers play’d,
      While his proud heart the prelude met,
    Aiming at calmness, though dismay’d,
      A loud, high measure, like a threat;
    Soon sinking to that lower [Errata:  slower] swell
    Which love and sorrow know so well.

    “How solemn is the sick man’s room
      To friends or kindred lingering near! 
    Poring on that uncertain gloom
      In silent heaviness and fear!

    “How sad, his feeble hand in thine,
      The start of every pulse to share! 
    With painful haste each wish divine,
      Yet fed the hopelessness of care!

    “To turn aside the full-fraught eye,
      Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear! 
    To bear the weight of every sigh,
      Lest it should reach that wakeful ear!

    “In the dread stillness of the night,
      To lose the faint, faint sound of breath! 
    To listen in restrain’d affright,
      To deprecate each thought of death!

    “And, when a movement chas’d that fear,
      And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,
    In thrilling awe the prayer to hear
      Through the clos’d curtain murmur’d low!