DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY AT THE RETREAT FOR THE INSANE.
Youth glows upon her blossom'd cheek,
Glad beauty in her eye,
And fond affections pure and meek
Her every want supply:
Why doth her glance so wildly rove
Some fancied foe to find?
What dark dregs stir her cup of love?
Go ask the sickening mind!
They bear her where with cheering smile
The hope of healing reigns
For those whom morbid Fancy's wile
In torturing bond constrains;
Where Mercy spreads an angel-wing
To do her Father's will,
And heaven-instructed plucks the sting
From Earth's severest ill.
Yet o'er that sufferer's drooping head
No balm of Gilead stole,
Diseas'd Imagination spread
Dark chaos o'er the soul;
But recollected truths sublime
Still fed Devotion's stream,
And beings from a sinless clime
Blent with her broken dream.
Then came a coffin and a shroud,
And many a bursting sigh,
