Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/168

And paler than that ashen corse, her face,
Half by a flood of ebon tresses hid,
Droop'd o'er the old nurse's shoulder. It was sad,
To see a young heart bursting, while the old
Sank to its rest.
                         There came another change;
The mournful bell toll'd out the funeral hour,
And many a foot throng'd where the sable hearse
Tarried. Friendship was there, with heavy heart,
Keen Curiosity intent to scan
The lofty mansion,—and gaunt Worldliness
Even o'er the coffin and the warning shroud,
Revolving his vile schemes.
                                            And one was there
To whom this earth could render nothing back
Like that pale piece of clay. Calmly she stood,
As marble statue. The old house dog came,
Pressing his rough head to her snowy palm,
All unreprov'd. He for his master mourn'd,
And could she spurn that faithful friend, who oft
His shaggy length through many a fire-side hour
Stretch'd at her father's feet, and round his bed
Of death had watch'd, with wondering, wishful eye,
In fear and sympathy? No! on his neck
Her orphan tear had fallen, and by her side
His noble front he rear'd, as proud to guard
The last lov'd relic of his master's house.
There was a calmness on that mourner's brow,
Ill understood by many a lawless glance
Of whispering gossip. Of her sire they spake,
Who suffered scarce the breath of heaven to stir
The tresses of his darling, and who deemed