Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress
Her boy,--so rosy!--and so fatherless!


XII.

Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near
The fair white temple, to the timely call
Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear.--
Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl
Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere
Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all,
--Saying those two, that turn aside and pass,
In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass.


XIII.

Ah me! to see their silken manors trail'd
In purple luxuries--with restless gold,--
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd
In blotted black,--over the heapy mould
Panting wave-wantonly! They never quail'd
How the warm vanity abused the cold;
Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone
Sadly uplooking through transparent stone:


XIV.