OLD SAXON FLOWERS. 63 
wandering like graceful handmaids through the charm¬ 
ed chambers of the mind ; unfettered by the painful 
panoply of pride, and unimpeded by the watchful sen¬ 
tries who ever keep jealous guard around the slave of 
ambition. On her cheek the healthy beams of morn¬ 
ing beat, and the dews of dawning are the pearly gems 
which diadem her brow: there is a grace in the un¬ 
studied flow of her drapery which the artists of old 
seized upon, when they called forth from the canvass 
forms which embodied the divinity of women. They 
drew the adoration of angels from her looks, and the 
great masters flew to her expressive features, when 
they shadowed forth the Virgin-mother bending over 
her Holy Child ; for there is no love without humility, 
no true affection unless it sees in the object of its wor¬ 
ship, a divinity toward which it tremblingly aspires. 
“Constancy,” says the poet, “livetli in realms above : 
but kind Pity, who had long looked down with tender 
eyes, and beheld how cheerless and restless the wan¬ 
dering heart was, even though it fondly loved, sent her 
down upon the earth as a comforter, and she took up 
her abode within the blue-belled flowers of the wild. 
She gathered together all the floating affections of true 
hearts, and formed for them many a sweet habitation, 
