His awful throne for ever smiles;
Ready with her white hand to guide,
His bolts of vengeance to their prey,
That she may quench them on their way."
Her soul is decked with golden light, which glorifies her actions and her friendship; indeed, that nectarian flower, amiability, grows in her path, and even place is dignified by the serenity of her presence. She is a lover of virtue, without austerity; pleasure, without effeminacy, and life without fear of its end; hence it is, she is subject to no disappointments, for her pursuit is truth. This is the ideality of her passion,—to cherish goodness: this is her pride, this her beauty, this her hope, this her life, this her death, and this her epitaph.
It is to such we may use those words of the great bard:—
Thou art alone,
If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like,
The queen of earthly queens.
This is the woman of whom the poet might say:—
Yet there is light around her brow,
A holiness in those dark eyes,
Which shows, tho' wand'ring earthward now,
Her spirit's home is in the skies.
