Sister ...  Thy mind
    Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
    Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
    For all sweet sounds and harmonies.

      Tintern Abbey.

    She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
    And humble cares, and delicate fears;
    A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
    And love and thought and joy.

      The Sparrow’s Nest.

    ’Tis her’s to pluck the amaranthine flower
      Of faith, and ’round the sufferer’s temples bind
    Wreaths that endure affliction’s heaviest shower,
      And do not shrink from sorrow’s keenest wind.

      Weak is the Will of Man.

    I praise thee, Matron! and thy due
    Is praise.... 
    With admiration I behold
    Thy gladness unsubdued and bold;
    Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
    The picture of a life well spent.

The Matron of Jedborough.

A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning due.... 
Her brow was smooth and white....
* * * * *
No fountain from its rocky cave
E’er tripped with foot so free,
She seemed as happy as a wave,
That dances on the sea.

The Two April Mornings.

The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see,
Even in the motions of the storm,
Grace that shall mould the Maiden’s form
By silent sympathy. 
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place,
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face. 
And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell.

      Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower.

    How blest the Maid whose heart—­yet free
    From Love’s uneasy sovereignty—­
    Beats with a fancy running high,
    Her simple cares to magnify;
    Whom Labour, never urged to toil,
    Hath cherished on a healthful soil;
    Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;
    Whose heaviest sin it is to look
    Askance upon her pretty self
    Reflected in some crystal brook;
    Whom grief hath spared,—­who sheds no tear
    But in sweet pity; and can hear
    Another’s praise from envy clear.

      The Three Cottage Girls.

    A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
    A Traveller between life and death;
    The reason firm, the temperate will,
    Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
    A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light.

      A Phantom of Delight.