CCXLIV Fire
Sweet Maiden, for so calm a life
Too bitter seemed thine end;
But thou hadst won thee, ere that strife,
A more than earthly Friend.
We miss thee in thy place at school, 5
And on thine homeward way,
Where violets by the reedy pool
Peep out so shyly gay:
Where thou, a true and gentle guide,
Wouldst lead thy little band, 10
With all an elder sister’s pride,
And rule with eye and hand.
And if we miss, oh, who may speak
What thoughts are hovering round The
pallet where thy fresh young cheek 15
Its evening slumber found?
How many a tearful longing look
In silence seeks thee yet,
Where in its own familiar nook
Thy fireside chair is set? 20
And oft when little voices dim
Are feeling for the note
In chanted prayer, or psalm, or hymn,
And wavering wildly float,
Comes gushing o’er a sudden thought 25
Of her who led the strain,
How oft such music home she brought—
But ne’er shall bring again.
O say not so! the springtide air
Is fraught with whisperings sweet; 30
Who knows but heavenly carols there
With ours may duly meet?
Who knows how near, each holy hour,
The pure and child-like dead
May linger, where in shrine or bower 35
The mourner’s prayer is said?
And He who willed thy tender frame
(O stern yet sweet decree!)
Should wear the martyr’s robe of flame,
He hath prepared for thee 40
A garland in that region bright
Where infant spirits reign, Tinged
faintly with such golden light
As crowns his martyr train.
Nay doubt it not: his tokens sure 45
Were round her death-bed shown:
The wasting pain might not endure,
’Twas calm ere life had flown,
Even as we read of Saints of yore:
Her heart and voice were free 50
To crave one quiet slumber more
Upon her mother’s knee.
John Keble.