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Ere she hath reached yon rustic Shed
Hung with late-flowering woodbine spread
Along the walls and overhead,
The fragrance of the breathing flowers
Revives a memory of those hours
When here, in this remote Alcove,
(While from the pendant woodbine came
Like odours, sweet as if the same)
A fondly anxious Mother strove
To teach her salutary fears
And mysteries above her years.
— Yes, she is soothed: — an Image faint —
And yet not faint — a presence bright
Returns to her; — 'tis that blessed Saint
Who with mild looks and language mild
Instructed here her darling Child,
While yet a prattler on the knee,
To worship in simplicity
The invisible God, and take for guide
The faith reformed and purified.
'Tis flown — the vision, and the sense Of that beguiling influence!
"But oh! thou Angel from above,
Then from within the embowered retreat
All efforts that would turn aside
The headstrong current of their fate:
Her duty is to stand and waits
In resignation to abide
The shock, And Finally Secure
O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF A TRIUMPH PURE.
— She knows, she feels it, and is cheared;
— And now an ancient Man appeared,
And greeting her thus gently spake,
"Rights have you, and may well be. bold:
— If prudence offer help or aid,
"Hope" said the Sufferer's zealous Friend,
— " Ah tempt me not!" she faintly sighed; "I will not counsel nor exhort, — With my condition satisfied; But you at least, may make report Of what befalls; — be this your task — This may be done; — 'tis all I ask!"
She spake — and from the Lady's sight The Sire, unconscious of his age,
Departed promptly as a Page
But quick the turns of chance and change,