XI.

And blushing maiden—­modestly array’d
  In spotless white,—­still conscious of the glass;
And she, the lonely widow, that hath made
  A sable covenant with grief,—­alas! 
She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade,
  While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass,
Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress
Her boy,—­so rosy!—­and so fatherless!

XII.

Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near
  The fair white temple, to the timely call
Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear.—­
  Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl
Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere
  Of the low porch, and heav’n has won them all,
—­Saying those two, that turn aside and pass,
In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass.

XIII.

Ah me! to see their silken manors trail’d
  In purple luxuries—­with restless gold,—­
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail’d
  In blotted black,—­over the heapy mould
Panting wave-wantonly!  They never quail’d
  How the warm vanity abused the cold;
Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone
Sadly uplooking through transparent stone: 

XIV.

But swept their dwellings with unquiet light,
  Shocking the awful presence of the dead;
Where gracious natures would their eyes benight,
  Nor wear their being with a lip too red,
Nor move too rudely in the summer bright
  Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread,
Meting it into steps, with inward breath,
In very pity to bereaved death.

XV.

Now in the church, time-sober’d minds resign
  To solemn pray’r, and the loud chaunted hymn,—­
With glowing picturings of joys divine
  Painting the mist-light where the roof is dim;
But youth looks upward to the window shine,
  Warming with rose and purple and the swim
Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains
Of gorgeous light through many-color’d panes;

XVI.

Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath
  Enrobed his angels,—­and with absent eyes
Hearing of Heav’n, and its directed path,
  Thoughtful of slippers—­and the glorious skies
Clouding with satin,—­till the preacher’s wrath
  Consumes his pity, and he glows and cries
With a deep voice that trembles in its might,
And earnest eyes grow eloquent in light: 

XVII.

“Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look
  On very beauty, and the heart embrace
True loveliness, and from this holy book
  Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace
Of love indeed!  Oh, that the young soul took
  Its virgin passion from the glorious face
Of fair religion, and address’d its strife,
To win the riches of eternal life!”