V.

But how gain'd she, whom pity strange and rare

Gave the night's refuge,— more than refuge there?

At morn the orphan hostess had received

The orphan outcast,— heard her and believed,—

And Lucy wept her thanks, and turn'd to part;

But the sad tale had touch'd a woman's heart.

Calantha's youth was lone, her nature kind,

She knew no friend — she sigh'd a friend to find;

That chasten'd speech, the grace so simply worn,

Bespoke the nurture of the gentle-born;

And so she gazed upon the weeping guest,

Check'd the intended alms, and murmur'd “Rest,

For both are orphans,— I should shelter thee,

And, weep no more — thy smile shall comfort me.”

Thus Lucy rested — finding day by day

Her grateful heart the saving hand repay.

Calantha loved her as the sad alone

Love what consoles them;— in that life her own

Seem'd to revive, and even hope to flower:

Ah, over Sorrow Youth has such sweet power!

The very menials linger'd as they went,

To spy the fairy to their dwelling sent,

To list her light step on the stair, or hark

Her song;— yes, now the dove was in the ark!

Ev'n the cold Morvale, spell'd at last, was found

Within the circle drawn his guest around;

Less rare his visits to Calantha grew,

And her eye shrunk less coldly from his view

The presence of the gentle third one brought

Respite to memory, gave fresh play to thought;

And as some child to strifeful parents sent,

Laps the long discord in its own content,

This happy creature seem'd to reach that home,

To say — “Love enters where the guileless come!”

It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still;

It was not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill;

But that continuous sweetness, which with ease

Pleases all round it, from the wish to please,—

This was the charm that Lucy's smile bestow'd;

The waves’ fresh ripple from deep fountains flow'd;—

Below exhaustless gratitude,— above,

Woman's meek temper, childhood's ready love.

Yet oft, when night reprieved the tender care,

And lonely thought stole musing on to prayer;

As some fair lake reflects, when day is o'er,

With clearer wave from farther glades the shore,

So, her still heart remember'd sorrows glass'd;

And o'er its hush lay trembling all the past,

Again she sees a mother's gentle face;

Again she feels a mother's soft embrace;

Again a mother's sigh of pain she hears,

And starts — till lo, the spell dissolves in tears!

Tears that too well the faithful grief reveal,

Which smiles, by day made duties, would conceal.