THE VIOLET OF THE VALLEY. 33 
tranquil valley. The anthems that echoed there were 
the songs of the wild birds, and the prayer breathed 
forth was the adoration of Nature, ministering in her 
own holy temple. If Love was there, it sat like a child 
playing in its innocence upon its own hearth, ad¬ 
miring the starry Jasmine which threw its green 
curtaining over the casement, or looking fondly at the 
Moss-rose which peeped in timidly at the latticed door¬ 
way. There was an unstudied grace in her attitude 
which the eye of the sculptor hath not yet caught,—a 
finish about the turning of the head and the rounding 
of the shoulders, to which marble hath not yet lent its 
enduring immortality; while in the large blue heaven 
of her downcast eyes, Modesty ever seemed to sit en¬ 
throned. In her casual visits to the distant market- 
town, men turned their heads in wonderment, and even 
women marveled from whence such a being of life 
and beauty had sprung; for wherever she moved she 
seemed to throw across the pavement a glad streak as 
if of sunshine. The astonished stranger made his 
inquiries in vain,—all he could gather was, that she 
was called the Violet of the Valley, but where she 
dwelt there were few that knew. And many an eye 
ere it closed in sleep, pictured that form moving before 
5 
