by C.E.V. [Caroline Elizabeth Villiers].
Originally published in Hood's Magazine (Henry Hurst) vol.6 #1 (Jul 1846).
The pictured memories of a noble race,
For valor, beauty, and misfortune, famed!
From ev'ry panel of the carvëd oak
Gazed forth a son or daughter of the line;
And, on the darkly-polished frames, were wrought
Devices fanciful, or blazoned arms.
Sadd'ning and soft, the oriel-window gave
The golden glory of an autumn-sun,
Pouring its bands of mellowed radiance in
The far-off leaping of the bright cascade.
Mild breezes sighing through the cedar-grove,
Or song of passing bird, were all the sounds
That broke upon my quiet solitude,
As in that ancient gallery I sat,
Amidst the records of departed life;
And, in a massive volume on my knee,
With page illumed, in antique character,
Was traced the history of all The House.
A pleasing tissue of romances wild,
Rather than cold reality, it seemed;
And wonder woke within me as I read.
Yet from the legend, ever and anon,
Mine eyes would wander, all unconsciously,
To rest on one—the sweetest picture there!
A simple thing—but, yet, simplicity
Hath charms that finished art alone may win.
Within the shadow of a verdant dell,
Bright in its vari-coloured summer dress
Of native flowers and leafy coronal,
Wrapped in the depth and stillness of repose,
A fair girl calmly lay! Her slender form,
Of outline exquisitely delicate,
Betrayed her childhood past, but breathed not, yet,
In full development of womanhood.
Upon one arm her drooping head reclined,
The other by her side fell gracefully;
A wreath half-woven, in the clasping hand,
Of "Heart's-ease" twined with blue "Forget-me-not;"
And some lay loosely scattered o'er her robe—
It seemed as sleep, with stealthy foot, had come
And kissed her eyelids 'midst her pretty task!
Her face wore all that dreamy loveliness
That lies upon the marble, hallowing
The sculptured beauty with the spirit's light!
One gleaming sun-beam fell across her brow,
Lending a brightness to its calm serene,
And shedding o'er the waving silky hair
A golden hue! Upon the cheek and lips
Consumption cast its beautiful deceit!
E'en as the Limner's hand had traced her here,
Her maidens found her—in the sleep of death!
The loved of heaven are claimed in life's young spring,
Ere sin hath breathed upon the spotless soul,
And tainted it with sorrow, born of earth;
Before the eyes are intimate with tears;
Ere falsehood of the one, perchance loved best,
Hath taught distrust of all! Like to a flower,
With dew upon its bosom, and its leaves,
The glad Sun shining, she sank down to rest!
And, to her mother's heart, that broken wreath
Came with a voice of soothing melody—
A gentle message from her Angel-child,—
"Peace to thy bosom—but forget me not!"