Poems (Edwards)/The Saintly Girl

by Matilda Caroline Smiley Edwards

THE SAINTLY GIRL.

I met her on a festal night,
 The winter winds were loud,
And o'er the dark and lowering sky
 Hung many a dismal cloud;
She was the fairest of the throng,
 The brightest and the best,
No care had ever touched her soul
 Or marred her spirit's rest;
And yet a mournful shade, methought,
 Was on her pensive breast.

She was most beautiful, her cheek
 Was like the snow-flake white,
And in her melancholy eye,
 There was a dewy light,—
A dewy light that won the soul
 And melted it to tears,
Aye! melted it with hopes of her,
 Half blended into fears;—
That shadows, dark and desolate,
 Would shroud her coming years.

I marked her, as with silent step,
 She moved amid the throng,
Or paused with brightening eyes to hear
 The music of some song
That warbled out from beauty's lip,
 And charmed the listening soul,
Until the voice of melody
 O'ermantled all her soul,
And like a spirit, tenderly
 Around her being stole.

Her cheek was like a snowy cloud
 Across the blue sky driven,
And oh! her sweet eye spoke to me,
 Far less of earth than Heaven;
I stood entranced, and looked into
 Her dark and dreamy eyes,
And thought how lovely she would be
 An angel in the skies,—
An angel, where the love of hearts
 No longer droops or dies.

But she is gone, that Saintly Girl,
 She died in early Spring,
When leaves were quivering in the breeze
 And flowers were blossoming;
When birds were singing in the wood
 And every thing looked gay,
That fair young being like a gleam
 Of moonlight passed away,
Away from all beneath the skies,
 To shine in endless day.