"
She sank upon her knees, and buried her face in the coverlid of the
bed, but no prayer rose to her lips--an utter prostration of soul was
there, but the shrine of her God was dark and voiceless; the waves of
human passion had flowed over it, and marred the purity of the
accustomed offering. Hour after hour still found her on her knees, yet
she could not form a single petition to the Divine Father. As Southey
has beautifully expressed the same feelings in the finest of all his
poems:
"An agony of tears was all her soul could offer."
Midnight came; the moon had climbed high in the heavens. The family had
retired for the night, and deep silence reigned through the house, when
Juliet rose from her knees, and approaching the open casement, looked
long and sadly into the serene, tranquil depths of the cloudless night.
Who ever gazed upon the face of the divine mother in vain? The spirit of
peace brooded over the slumbering world--that holy calm which no passion
of man can disturb--which falls with the same profound stillness round
the turmoil of the battle-field, and the bed of death--which enfolds in
its silent embrace the eternity of the past--the wide ocean of the
present. How many streaming eyes had been raised to that cloudless
moon!--how many hands had been lifted up in heart-felt prayer to those
solemn star-gemmed heavens! What tales of bitter grief had been poured
out to the majesty of night! The eyes were quenched in the darkness of
the grave; the hands were dust; and the impassioned hearts that once
breathed those plaintive notes of woe, where, oh where were they? The
spirit that listened to the sorrows of their day had no revelation to
make of their fate!
"And I, what am I, that I should repine and murmur against the decrees
of Providence?" sighed Juliet.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207