THE maiden's grave. 19 



With tearful eye and pallid cheek 



Kate wander'd oft alone ; 

 And never was she heard to speak 



But in a mournful tone. 



The earth had lost its charm for her ; 



And now with steadfast eye 

 She sought to fix her hopes and joys 



In brighter worlds on high. 



Next this, it was her chief delight. 



Her solace and content. 

 To number o'er the happy hours 



She'd with her mother spent. 



The words she spoke, the prayers she taught. 



The precepts she had given. 

 Were cherish'd in each secret thought. 



To guide her feet to heaven. 



Oh, ne'er was sainted relic kept 



Within its sacred shrine. 

 As was thy mother's memory • 



In that true heart of thine ! 



Years roll'd along ; Kate's beauties bloom 'd. 



And numbers sought her hand ; 

 And though she view'd them with esteem. 



None could her heart command. 



A mother's love was in her breast- 

 She could no other own ; 



And that to keep unstain'd and pure. 

 She still would dwell alone. 



Her soul was framed of gentleness. 



So kind, so pure, so good ; 

 She sought the poor in their distress. 



And by the dying stood. 



