stood
Conversing. Of the criminal's past life
He made inquiry, and receiv'd replies
Foreign from truth, or vague and taciturn:
And added pious counsels, unobserv'd,
Heeded but slightly, or ill understood.

* * * * *

The leaden-footed weeks o'er Conrad pass'd,
With deadening weight.
Privation bow'd his pride.
The lily-handed, smiting at the forge,
Detested life, and meditated means
To accomplish suicide.
At dusk of eve,
While in his cell, on darkest themes he mused,
Before his grate, a veiled woman stood.

--She spake not, but her presence made him glad,--
A purer atmosphere seem'd breathing round
To expand his shrivell'd heart.
Fair gifts she brought,
Roses fresh-blown, and cates, and fragrant fruits
Most grateful to his fever'd lip.
"Oh speak!
Speak to me!"
But she glided light away,
And heavenly sweet, her parting whisper said
"Good night! With the new moon I'll come again."

* * * * *

"_With the new Moon!_"
Hope! hope! Its magic wand
With phosphorescence ting'd that Stygian pool
Of chill despair, in which his soul had sank
Lower and lower still. Now, at the forge
A blessed vision gleam'd. Its mystery woke
The romance of his nature. Every day
Moved lighter on, and when he laid it down,
It breathed "_good night_!" like a complacent child
Going to rest. One barrier less remain'd
Between him and the goal, and to each night
A tarrying, tedious guest, he bade farewell,
Like lover, counting toward his spousal-morn.

* * * * *

But _will she come_?
And then, he blamed the doubt.
His pulse beat quicker, as the old moon died.
And when the slender sickle of pale gold
Cut the blue concave, by his grated door
Stood the veil'd visitant. The breath of flowers
Foretold her coming. With their wealth she brought
Grapes in the cluster, and a clasped Book,
The holiest, and the best.
"Show me thine eyes!"
He pray'd. But still with undrawn veil, she gave
The promise of return, in whisper sweet,
"Good night! good night!
Wilt read my Book? and say
Oh Lamb of God, forgive!"
So, by the lamp
When tardy Evening still'd the din of toil,
He read of Him who came to save the lost,
Who touch'd the blind, and they receiv'd their sight,
The dead young