s dimmed--and never again did
she behold either flower or star. Yet all the images of all the things
she had loved remained in her memory, clear and distinct as the things
themselves before unextinguished eyes; and ere three summers had flown
over her head--which, like the blossom of some fair perennial flower, in
heaven's gracious dew and sunshine each season lifted its loveliness
higher and higher in the light--she could trip her singing way through
the wild wilderness, all by her joyful self, led, as all believed, nor
erred they in so believing, by an angel's hand! When the primroses
peeped through the reviving grass upon the vernal braes, they seemed to
give themselves into her fingers; and 'twas thought they hung longer
unfaded round her neck or forehead than if they had been left to drink
the dew on their native bed. The linnets ceased not their lays, though
her garment touched the broom-stalk on which they sang. The cushat, as
she thrid her way through the wood, continued to croon in her darksome
tree--and the lark, although just dropped from the cloud, was cheered by
her presence into a new passion of song, and mounted over her head, as
if it were his first matin hymn. All the creatures of the earth and air
manifestly loved the Wanderer of the Wilderness--and as for human
beings, she was named, in their pity, their wonder, and their delight,
the Blind Beauty of the Moor!

She was an only child, and her mother had died in giving her birth. And
now her father, stricken by one of the many cruel diseases that shorten
the lives of shepherds on the hills, was bed-ridden--and he was poor. Of
all words ever syllabled by human lips, the most blessed is--Charity. No
manna now in the wilderness is rained from heaven--for the mouths of the
hungry need it not in this our Christian land. A few goats feeding among
the rocks gave them milk, and there was bread for them in each
neighbour's house--neighbour though miles afar--as the sacred duty came
round--and the unrepining poor sent the grateful child away with their
prayers.

One evening, returning to the hut with her usual song, she danced up to
her father's face on his rushy bed, and it was cold in death. If she
shrieked--if she fainted--there was but one Ear that heard, one Eye that
saw her in her swoon. Not now floating light like a small moving cloud
unwilling to leave the flowery braes, though it be to melt in heaven,
but driven along like a shroud of flying mist before