"Hush, hush! lest Man's eternal Foe } Hear thee, and tempt! Oh, never may'st thou know } Beside one deed of Guilt--how blest is guiltless Woe!" } Then, close, and closer, clinging to his side, Frank as the child, and tender as the bride, Words--looks--and tears themselves combine the balm, Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm! As holy herbs (that rocks with verdure wreathe, And fill with sweets the summer air they breathe,) In winter wither, only to reveal Diviner virtues--charged with powers to heal, So are the thoughts of Love!--if Heaven is fair, Blooms for the earth, and perfumes for the air;-- Is the Heaven dark?--doth sorrow sear the leaf? They fade from joy to anodynes for grief! From theme to theme she lures his thought afar, From the dark haunt in which its demons are; And with the gentle instinct which divines Interest more strong than aught which Self entwines With its own suffering--changed the course of tears, And led him, child-like, through her own young years. The silent sorrows of a patient mind-- Grief's loveliest poem, a soft soul resign'd, Charm'd and aroused---- "O tell me more!" he cried; "Ev'n from the infant let me trace the bride. Of thy dear life I am a miser grown, And grudge each smile that did not gild my own; Look back--thy _Father?_ Canst thou not recal _His_ kiss, _his_ voice? Fair orphan! tell me all." "My Father? No!" sigh'd Lucy; "at that name Still o'er my mother's cheek the fever came; Thus, from the record of each earlier year, That household tie moved less of love than fear; Some wild mysterious awe, some undefined Instinct of woe was with the name entwined. Lived he?--I knew not; knew not till the last Sad hours, when Memory struggled to the Past, And she--my dying mother--to my breast Clasp'd these twain relics--let them speak the rest!" With that, for words no more she could command, She placed a scroll--a portrait--in his hand; And overcome by memories that could brook Not ev'n love's comfort,--veil'd her troubled look, And glided swiftly thence. Nor he detain'd: Spell bound, his gaze upon the portrait strain'd: That brow--those features! that bright lip, which smiled Forth from the likeness!--Found Lord Arden's child! The picture spoke as if from Mary's tomb, Death in the smile and mockery in the bloom. The scroll, unseal'd--address'd the obscurer name That Arden bore, ere lands and lordship came; And at the close, to which the Indian's eyes } Hurried, these words:-- } "In peace thy Mary dies; } Forgive her sternness in her sacrifice! } It had one merit--_that I loved!_ and till Each pulse is hush'd shall love, yet fly, thee still. Now take thy child! and when she clings with pride