Chapter XVI: Part I

Morning arose, and from their dreams,
Awoke the slumbering flowers;
Red glowed the hill-tops in her beams,
Her crest lay glittering on the streams,
And on one cot her gayest gleams
Broke in warm golden showers.

A pair of eyes had oped that morn,
Eyes soft and sweet and blue;
A poor, weak, helpless thing forlorn,
Beneath that humble roof was born,
A folded bud from blossoming thorn,
Save that a soul peeped through.

And many a jocund laugh there rung,
Up from that cottage low,
And glad words sat on many a tongue,
And bliss upon fond bosoms hung,
For there a rill of life had sprung,
Which would forever flow.

One form unseen stood meekly nigh,
Which drew the sunlight there,
His radiance for a time flung by,
He was an Angel from the sky,
With loving pity in his eye,
And brow new-wreathed with care.

Down from the palace of the King,
That morning had he hied;
The song was stayed upon the string,
The glory folded in the wing,
For sad would be his wandering
By that poor mortal’s side.