XXIV BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 



No pomp of tombs hast thou, whcreni the dead 



Low in the dust repose the Tveaiy head, 



Within thy ^vhitc avails all is bright and gay, 



And tells us thou wert made but for a day. 



But placed beneath the happy convent's shade, 



Where all earth's noises into silence fade, 



Something within thee breathes a pensive calm 



That fulls upon the harassed mind like balm 



And like a shadow from my happy past, 



A charm resistless round my soul has cast. 



There, once each morning, on thy pavement wide, 



I knelt me down, fresh from the limpid tide, 



And with my mother's kiss warm on my brow, 



My soul to God in childish prayer did bow. 



How many times, while rose the vesper prayer, 



And the swung censer perfumed all the au*, 



Descending slowly, like the holy dove, 



A sacred reverie bathed my soul in love — 



An angel sent to raise desponding eyes, 



Where faith shows all they long for in the skies ; 



While the tall tapers gave a softened light. 



And the veiled choir charmed the list'ning night. 



Here, for the first time, were my footsteps led, 



Where at thy altar, in the sacred bread, 



My ardent lips upon my God were fed. 



For this I love thee ! Ever from thy walls 



A holy peace upon my spirit falls. 



— Oh happy days ! O days long lost, still dear ! 



A lofty hall, mj' lather working near, 



I see among my early memories. 



Where rows of portraits watched me with their eyes. 



There my young sisters and my brother played. 



While soberly from book to book I strayed ; 



Like the blithe bee that through the summer horn's 



Flits restless o'er the garden's wealtli of llowers. 



Lights on ;i Imd and I hen awny :igain, 



