THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
47
The love which with her stature grew,
Caught something mournful from the dead;
And her young spirit quenched its tone
Too much with dwelling on the gone.
She sat beside her mother's grave,
And thought of him, the loved, the brave;
He who had been the only guide
Of his betrothed and orphan bride.
Thus had she grown, a lonely child
Like the wood-flower, as sweet and wild;
The darling and delight of all
Within the old ancestral hall;
None looked beyond the brow the while,
Which still was sweet with childhood's smile.
How often has the maiden felt,
When at Leoni's feet she knelt,
