And what bold step may follow, 'midst the roar
Of the red billows, o'er their prey that rise?
None!—Courage there stood still—and never more
Did those fair forms emerge on human eyes!
Was one brief meeting theirs, one wild farewell,
And died they heart to heart?—oh! who can tell?
Freshly and cloudlessly the morning broke
On that sad palace, midst its pleasure-shades;
Its painted roofs had sunk—yet black with smoke
And lonely stood its marble colonnades:
But yester-eve their shafts with wreaths were bound—
Now lay the scene one shrivell'd scroll around!
And bore the ruins no recording trace
Of all that woman's heart had dared and done?
—Yes! there were gems to mark its mortal place,
That forth from dust and ashes dimly shone!
Those had the mother, on her gentle breast,
Worn round her child's fair image, there at rest.*[1]
And they were all!—the tender and the true
Left this alone her sacrifice to prove,
Hallowing the spot where mirth once lightly flew,
To deep, lone, chasten'd thoughts of grief and love!
—Oh! we have need of patient Faith below,
To clear away the mysteries of such woe!F. H.
- ↑
* "L'on n'a pu reconnoître ce qui restoit d'elle sur la terre, qu'au chiffre de ses enfans, qui marquoit encore la place où cet ange avoit péri."
Madame De Stael.
