"O! in that morn of life is given To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower! Joys, which have flown direct from heaven, And Graces, captive in her bower. "Thoughts which can sail along the skies, Or poise upon the buoyant air; And make a peasant's soul arise A monarch's mighty power to share. "When all that we perceive below, By land or sea, by night or day, The past, the future, and the flow Of present times, their tribute pay. "Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower, Bears her a blessing on its wings; And every rich and precious flower Its fragrance on her spirit flings. "There's not a star that shines above But pours on her a partial ray; Endearments, like maternal love, Her love to Nature's self repay. "Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart, Close interlace the angel arm; And with caresses heal the smart Of every care, and every harm. "Amid the wealth, amid the blaze Of luxury and pomp around, How poor is all the eye surveys To what we know of fairy ground!" She ceases, and her tears flow fast-- O! can this fit of softness last, Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share The sickly triumph of despair? Upon the harp her head is thrown, All round is like a vision flown; And o'er a billowy surge her mind Views lost delight left far behind. THE LAY OF MARIE. CANTO SECOND. Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er, Lamented that they heard no more; While Brehan, from her broken lay, Portended what she yet might say. As the untarrying minutes flew, More anxious and alarm'd he grew. At length he spake:--"We wait too long The remnant of this wilder'd song! And too tenaciously we press Upon the languor of distress! 'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd, And in some noiseless chamber laid, Attentive care, and soothing rest, Appeas'd the anguish of her breast." Low was his voice, but Marie heard: He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd. She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs, Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes; And, ere they dried upon her cheek, Before she gather'd force to speak, Convulsively her fingers play'd, While his proud heart the prelude met, Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd, A loud, high measure, like a threat; Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell Which love and sorrow know so well. "How solemn is the sick man's room To friends or kindred lingering near! Poring on that uncertain gloom In silent heaviness and fear! "How sad, his feeble hand in thine, The start of every pulse to share! With painful haste each wish divine, Yet fed the hopelessness of care!