The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 14, Pages 110-112
RECORDS OF WOMAN.—NO. II.
Costanza.
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Through the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And, with its rich deep melancholy glow
Flushing the marble beauty of her brow,
While o'er her long hair's flowing jet it threw
Bright waves of gold,—the autumn forest's hue—
Seem'd all a vision's mist of glory, spread
By picture's touch around some holy head,
Virgin's or fairest martyr's!—In her eye,
Which glanced as dark clear water to the sky,
What solemn fervor lived! And yet what woe
Lay like some buried thing, still seen below
The glassy tide!—Oh! he that could reveal
What life had taught that chasten'd heart to feel,
Might speak indeed of woman's blighted years,
And wasted love, and vainly bitter tears!
