Had the young priest a faithful lover died, Something had been her bosom to divide; Now heaven had all, for in her holiest views She saw the matron whom she fear'd to lose; While from her parent, the dejected maid Forced the unpleasant thought, or thinking pray'd. Surprised, the mother saw the languid frame, And felt indignant, yet forbore to blame; Once with a frown she cried, "And do you mean To die of love--the folly of fifteen?" But as her anger met with no reply, She let the gentle girl in quiet die; And to her sister wrote, impell'd by pain, "Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain." Lucy meantime profess'd with joy sincere, That nothing held, employ'd, engaged her here. "I am an humble actor, doom'd to play A part obscure, and then to glide away: Incurious how the great or happy shine, Or who have parts obscure and sad as mine; In its best prospect I but wish'd for life, To be th' assiduous, gentle, useful wife; That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor, I drop my efforts, and can act no more; With growing joy I feel my spirits tend To that last scene where all my duties end." Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying gave, Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave; She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm, And said, "She left but little for the worm:" As toll'd the bell, "There's one," she said, "hath press'd Awhile before me to the bed of rest:" And she beside her with attention spread The decorations of the maiden dead. While quickly thus the mortal part declin'd, The happiest visions fill'd the active mind; A soft, religious melancholy gain'd Entire possession, and for ever reign'd: On Holy Writ her mind reposing dwelt, She saw the wonders, she the mercies felt; Till, in a bless'd and glorious reverie, She seem'd the Saviour as on earth to see, And, fill'd with love divine, th' attending friend to be; Or she who trembling, yet confiding, stole Near to the garment, touch'd it, and was whole; When, such the intenseness of the working thought, On her it seem'd the very deed was wrought; She the glad patient's fear and rapture found, The holy transport, and the healing wound; This was so fix'd, so grafted in the heart, That she adopted, nay became the part: But one chief scene was present to her sight, Her Saviour resting in the tomb by night; Her fever rose, and still her wedded mind Was to that scene, that hallow'd cave, confin'd - Where in the shade of death the body laid, There watch'd the spirit of the wandering maid; Her looks were fix'd, entranced, illumed, serene, In the still glory of the midnight scene: There at her Saviour's feet, in visions bless'd, Th' enraptured maid a sacred joy possess'd; In patience waiting for the first-born ray Of that all-glorious and triumphant day: To this idea all her soul she gave, Her mind reposing by the sacred grave; Then sleep would seal the eye, the vision close, And steep the solemn thoughts in brief repose. Then grew the soul serene, and all its powers