6
CHRISTINA.
That Love had nursed so warm, yet could not keep,
Did seem to leave a blank where it had been.
Christina wept; but still as one whose tears
Rained inward on her heart, whence rising oft
They filled her eyes, but did not overflow them:
For still she moved about the house, serene,
And when her husband sought his home at eve
She met him now, as ever, with a smile,
So sweet, I know not if he missed its joy.
But oft I tracked her thoughts unto a field,
Quiet, yet populous as the city round it—
Thick sown with graves; yet there the mother's heart
Had marked a place, and there her constant feet
Had worn a path. At early morn, I knew
Oft went she by the grave to weep unseen,
So oft at night-fall there I scattered flowers,
The fairest and the sweetest I could find.
I thought, she will not know whose hand hath strewed them.
So wonder and a loving guess may cheat
Her mind, a moment taking it from grief
I stood beside that grave one summer night;
The skies were moonless, yet their dusk serene
Was grateful to my spirit, for it seemed
To wrap me from the world, myself, and heaven;
And all the air was soft and cool, methought
It kissed my cheek as if it were a child
That loved me,—sinless, shrinking not from sin.
Old legends say, that when the faithful join
On holy Sabbaths with one fervent voice,
Did seem to leave a blank where it had been.
Christina wept; but still as one whose tears
Rained inward on her heart, whence rising oft
They filled her eyes, but did not overflow them:
For still she moved about the house, serene,
And when her husband sought his home at eve
She met him now, as ever, with a smile,
So sweet, I know not if he missed its joy.
But oft I tracked her thoughts unto a field,
Quiet, yet populous as the city round it—
Thick sown with graves; yet there the mother's heart
Had marked a place, and there her constant feet
Had worn a path. At early morn, I knew
Oft went she by the grave to weep unseen,
So oft at night-fall there I scattered flowers,
The fairest and the sweetest I could find.
I thought, she will not know whose hand hath strewed them.
So wonder and a loving guess may cheat
Her mind, a moment taking it from grief
I stood beside that grave one summer night;
The skies were moonless, yet their dusk serene
Was grateful to my spirit, for it seemed
To wrap me from the world, myself, and heaven;
And all the air was soft and cool, methought
It kissed my cheek as if it were a child
That loved me,—sinless, shrinking not from sin.
Old legends say, that when the faithful join
On holy Sabbaths with one fervent voice,
