The Woodman knew, for such the craft This Russian vassal plied, That never fowler's gun, nor shaft Of archer, there was tried; A sanctuary seemed the spot And there he planned an artful Cot With earnest pains, unchecked by dread She moulds her sight-eluding den His task accomplished to his mind, The twain, ere break of day Creep forth, and through the forest wind Their solitary way; Few words they speak, nor dare to slack Their pace from mile to mile, Till they have crossed the quaking marsh, And reached the lonely Isle. The san above the pine-trees showed A bright and cheerful face, And Ina looked for her abode, The promised hiding-place; She sought in vain: the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen, Nor roof, nor window; As it had ever been. all seemed wild Advancing, you might guess an hour, As shaggy as were wall and roof So smooth was all within, air-proof, And hearth was there, and maple dish, For nurture or repose; In solitude, with every want No queen, before a shouting crowd, E'er struggled with a heart so proud, Entering her palace gate; Rejoiced to bid the world farewell, No saintly anchoress E'er took possession of her cell With deeper thankfulness. "Father of all, upon thy care And mercy am I thrown; Be thou my safeguard!”—such her prayer The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, Diffused through form and face, Resolves devotedly serene; That monumental grace Of Faith, which doth all passions tame PART III. "T IS sung in ancient minstrelsy Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit Of his imperious love, At her own prayer transformed, took root, A laurel in the grove. Then did the penitent adorn His brow with laurel green; And 'mid his bright locks never shorn And poets sage, through every age, The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods Into the mists of fabling Time That scorns temptation; power defies Where mutual love is not; And to the tomb for rescue flies When life would be a blo To this fair Votaress, a fate More mild doth Heaven ordain Upon her Island desolate; And words, not breathed in vain. Might tell what intercourse she found Her silence to endear; What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground Sent forth her peace to cheer. To one mute Presence, above all A picture on the cabin wall By Russian usage hung, The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright And oft, as either Guardian came, Might any common friendship shaine, But when she of her Parents thought, Before her flight she had not dared Dark is the past to them, and dark Till pitying Saints conduct her bark Or gentle Nature close her eyes, And set her Spirit free From the altar of this sacrifice, In vestal purity. |