30.

They laid her in the Garden of the Dead;
Such as a Christian burial-place should be

Was that fair spot, where every grave was spread
With flowers, and not a weed to spring was free;
But the pure blossoms of the orange tree
Dropt like a shower of fragrance on the bier;
And palms, the type of immortality,

Planted in stately colonnades appear,

That all was verdant there throughout the unvarying

year.

31.

Nor ever did irreverent feet intrude

Within that sacred spot; nor sound of mirth, Unseemly there, profane the solitude, Where solemnly committed earth to earth, Waiting the summons for their second birth, Whole generations in Death's peaceful fold Collected lay; green innocence, ripe worth, Youth full of hope, and age whose days were told, Compress'd alike into that mass of mortal mould.

32.

Mortal, and yet at the Archangel's voice
To put on immortality. That call

Shall one day make the sentient dust rejoice;
These bodies then shall rise and cast off all
Corruption, with whate'er of earthly thrall
Had clogg'd the heavenly image, then set free.
How then should Death a Christian's heart appal?
Lo, Heaven for you is open; ... enter ye
Children of God, and heirs of his eternity!

33.

This hope supported Mooma, hand in hand
When with Yeruti at the grave she stood.
Less even now of death they understand
Than of the joys eternal that ensued;
The bliss of infinite beatitude

To them had been their teacher's favourite theme,
Wherewith their hearts so fully were imbued,
That it the sole reality might seem,

Life, death, and all things else, a shadow or a dream.

34.

Yea, so possest with that best hope were they, That if the heavens had opened overhead, And the Archangel with his trump that day To judgement had convoked the quick and dead, They would have heard the summons not with dread, But in the joy of faith that knows no fear; Come Lord! come quickly! would this pair have said, And thou O Queen of men and Angels dear, Lift us whom thou hast loved into thy happy sphere!

35.

They wept not at the grave, though overwrought With feelings there as if the heart would break. Some haply might have deem'd they suffer'd not; Yet they who look'd upon that Maiden meek Might see what deep emotion blanched her cheek. An inward light there was which fill'd her eyes, And told, more forcibly than words could speak, That this disruption of her earliest ties

Had shaken mind and frame in all their faculties.

36.

It was not passion only that disturb'd
Her gentle nature thus; it was not grief;
Nor human feeling by the effort curb'd
Of some misdeeming duty, when relief
Were surely to be found, albeit brief,
If sorrow at its springs might freely flow;
Nor yet repining, stronger than belief

In its first force, that shook the Maiden so, Though these alone might that frail fabric overthrow.

37.

The seeds of death were in her at that hour, Soonwas their quick'ning and their growth display'd; Thenceforth she droop'd and wither'd like a flower, Which when it flourish'd in its native shade Some child to his own garden hath convey'd, And planted in the sun, to pine away. Thus was the gentle Mooma seen to fade, Not under sharp disease, but day by day Losing the powers of life in visible decay.

38.

The sunny hue that tinged her cheek was gone,
A deathy paleness settled in its stead;

The light of joy which in her eyes had shone,
Now like a lamp that is no longer fed

Grew dim; but when she raised her heavy head
Some proffer'd help of kindness to partake,
Those feeble eyes a languid lustre shed,

And her sad smile of thankfulness would wake Grief even in callous hearts for that sweet sufferer's

sake.

39.

How had Yeruti borne to see her fade? But he was spared the lamentable sight, Himself upon the bed of sickness laid. Joy of his heart, and of his eyes the light Had Mooma been to him, his soul's delight, On whom his mind for ever was intent, His darling thought by day, his dream by night, The playmate of his youth in mercy sent, With whom his life had past in peacefullest content.

40.

Well was it for the youth, and well for her, As there in placid helplessness she lay, He was not present with his love to stir Emotions that might shake her feeble clay, And rouse up in her heart a strong array Of feelings, hurtful only when they bind To earth the soul that soon must pass away. But this was spared them; and no pain of mind To trouble her had she, instinctively resign'd.

41.

Nor was there wanting to the sufferers aught
Of careful kindness to alleviate

The affliction; for the universal thought
In that poor town was of their sad estate,
And what might best relieve or mitigate
Their case, what help of nature or of art;
And many were the prayers compassionate
That the good Saints their healing would impart,
Breathed in that maid's behalf from many a tender
heart.

42.

And vows were made for her, if vows might save; She for herself the while preferr'd no prayer; For when she stood beside her Mother's grave, Her earthly hopes and thoughts had ended there. Her only longing now was, free as air From this obstructive flesh to take her flight For Paradise, and seek her Mother there, And then regaining her beloved sight Rest in the eternal sense of undisturb'd delight.

43.

Her heart was there, and there she felt and knew
That soon full surely should her spirit be.
And who can tell what foretastes might ensue
To one, whose soul, from all earth's thraldom free,
Was waiting thus for immortality?

Sometimes she spake with short and hurried breath
As if some happy sight she seem'd to see,
While in the fulness of a perfect faith

Even with a lover's hope she lay and look'd for death.

44.

I said that for herself the patient maid Preferr'd no prayer; but oft her feeble tongue And feebler breath a voice of praise essay'd; And duly when the vesper bell was rung, Her evening hymn in faint accord she sung So piously, that they who gathered round Awe-stricken on her heavenly accents hung, As though they thought it were no mortal sound, But that the place whereon they stood was holy ground.