No queen, before a shouting crowd, E'er struggled with a heart so proud, "Father of all, upon thy care Be thou my safeguard!"-such her prayer When joy had passed away, The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, Diffused through form and face, Resolves devotedly serene; That monumental grace Of Faith, which doth all passions tame And shows in the untrembling frame PART III. 'Tis sung in ancient minstrelsy At her own prayer transformed, took root, Then did the Penitent adorn His brow with laurel green; And 'mid his bright locks never shorn And poets sage, through every age, The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods, Into the mists of fabling Time That scorns temptation; power defies And to the tomb for rescue flies When life would be a blot. To this fair Votaress, a fate More mild doth Heaven ordain Upon her Island desolate; And words, not breathed in vain, Might tell what intercourse she found, Her silence to endear; What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground Sent forth her peace to cheer. To one mute Presence, above all, By Russian usage hung The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright And, communed with by taper light, Chased spectral fears away. And oft, as either Guardian came, Might any common friendship shame, But, when she of her Parents thought, Before her flight she had not dared Too much the heroic Daughter feared Dark is the past to them, and dark Till pitying Saints conduct her bark Or gentle Nature close her eyes, Yet, when above the forest-glooms Her fancy rode the blast ; And bore her toward the fields of France To mingle in the rustic dance, Of those beloved fields she oft She saw the hereditary bowers, She heard the ancestral stream; VOL. IV. BB PART IV. THE ever-changing Moon had traced A shout thrice sent from one who chased Bounding through branches interlaced, The fainting creature took the marsh, While plovers screamed with tumult harsh This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear, Shrunk to her citadel; The desperate deer rushed on, and near The tangled covert fell. Across the marsh, the game in view, The Hunter followed fast, Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew A death-proclaiming blast; Came forth the Maid-" In me Behold," she said, "a stricken Hind |