But when upon the pillow then, Composed, she laid her head, She little thought what unseen Powers Kept watch beside her bed.

A double ward had she that night,

When evil near her drew; Her own Good Angel guarding her, And Eleëmon's too.

Their charge it was to keep her safe From all unholy things; And o'er her while she slept, they spread The shadow of their wings.

So when an Evil Dream drew nigh They barr'd him from access, Nor suffer'd him to reach her with A breath of sinfulness.

But with his instigations they A hallowing influence blent, And made his fiendish ministry

Subserve to their intent.

Thus while in troubled sleep she lay,

Strange impulses were given,
Emotions earthly and of earth,
With heavenly ones of Heaven.

And now the nightingale hath ceased
Her strain, who all night long
Hath in the garden rosier trill'd
A rich and rapturous song.

The storks on roof and dome and tower
Forbear their clattering din,

As now the motions and the sounds
Of daily life begin.

Then as from dreams that seem'd no dreams
The wondering Maid awoke,

A low sweet voice was in her ear;
Such as we might expect to hear
If some Good Angel spoke.

According with her dreams, it said,
So, Cyra, must it be;
The duties of a wedded life
Hath Heaven ordain'd for thee..

This was no dream full well she knew;
For open-eyed she lay,

Conscious of thought and wakefulness
And in the light of day;
And twice it spake, if doubt had been,
To do all doubt away.

Alas! but how shall she make known
This late and sudden change?
Or how obtain belief for what
Even to herself is strange?

How will her Father brook a turn
That must to all seem shame?

How bear to think that vulgar tongues
Are busy with her name!

Blest in her husband she hath been;
He loved her as sincerely,
(Most sinful and unhappy man!)
As he had bought her dearly.

She hath been fruitful as a vine, And in her children blest; Sorrow hath not come near her yet, Nor fears to shake, nor cares to fret,

Nor grief to wound the breast.

And blest alike would her husband be,
Were all things as they seem;
Eleëmon hath every earthly good,
And with every man's esteem.

But where the accursed reed had drawn
The heart-blood from his breast,
A small red spot remain'd
Indelibly imprest.

Nor could he from his heart throw off
The consciousness of his state ;
It was there with a dull, uneasy sense,
A coldness and a weight;

It was there when he lay down at night,
It was there when at morn he rose :

He feels it whatever he does,
It is with him wherever he goes.

No occupation from his mind
That constant sense can keep;
It is present in his waking hours,
It is present in his sleep;

But still he felt it most,
And with painfullest weight it prest,-
O miserable man!
When he was happiest

O miserable man,
Who hath all the world to friend,
Yet dares not in prosperity
Remember his latter end!

But happy man, whate'er

His earthly lot may be,
Who looks on Death as the Angel
That shall set his spirit free,
And bear it to its heritage
Of immortality!

In such faith hath Proterius lived; And strong is that faith and fresh, As if obtaining then new power, When he hath reach'd the awful hour Appointed for all flesh.

Eleëmon and his daughter With his latest breath he blest, And saying to them, « we shall meet Again before the Mercy-seat! Went peacefully to rest.

This is the balm which God
Hath given for every grief;
And Cyra, in her anguish,
Look'd heavenward for relief.