XVI. — LOUISE SCHEPLER .

A FEARLESS journeyer o'er the mountain snow
Wert thou, Louise! the sun's decaying light,
Oft, with its latest melancholy glow,
Redden'd thy steep wild way: the starry night
Oft met thee, crossing some lone eagle's height,
Piercing some dark ravine: and many a dell
Knew, through its ancient rock-recesses well,
Thy gentle presence, which hath made them bright
Oft in mid storms; oh! not with beauty's eye,
Nor the groud glance of genius keenly burning;
No! pilgrim of unwearying charity!
Thy spell was love — the mountain deserts turning
To blessed realms, where stream and rock rejoice,
When the glad human soul lifts a thanksgiving voice!