THE FIRST DEATH IN THE CLEARING. 157 



golden veil gemmed with tears, almost shrouding, the 

 «alm sweet face of her dead. There was no violence 

 in the subdued grief of the mourner. She took a little 

 packet from her breast, and opening its folds pointed to 

 the bright silken curls that she had cut from the pretty- 

 head, then' replaced it with a. sigh in the bosom where 

 the soft head had been so tenderly nestled. It was only 

 when the bearers came in and closed the coffin lid that 

 forever hid her darling from her sight that, with a 

 burst of grief not to be suppressed, she threw herself 

 into my arms and wailed the piteous cry, " Gone ! gone ! 

 My wean ! my wean ! " 



Then she besought me to join the little funeral proces- 

 sion to the burying-ground across the river, but this I 

 could not do, for the way was far and I did not feel 

 •equal to the long walk. > 



I watched them as they crossed the bridge and 

 ascended the opposite bank, till the white pall was lost 

 among the dark pines that marked the forest road, and 

 then with heavy heart retraced my steps to my own 

 home. 



THE EARLY BLEST. 

 (Lines by my sister, Agnes Strickland.) 



Thy mother's sad eyes in wild anguish wept o'er thee, 

 A.nd the tears of a father flowed fast to deplore thee ; 

 And thine own feeble cries told the struggle within, 

 When thou, sinless babe, paid the forfeit of sin. 



