n,
That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain.

VII.

"I have a lily in the bloom at home,"
Quoth one, "and by the blessed Sabbath day
I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come
And read a lesson upon vain array;--
And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some
Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say--
Making my reverence,--'Ladies, an you please,
King Solomon's not half so fine as these,'"

VIII.

Then her meek partner, who has nearly run
His earthly course,--"Nay, Goody, let your text
Grow in the garden.--We have only one--
Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next?
Summer will come again, and summer sun,
And lilies too,--but I were sorely vext
To mar my garden, and cut short the blow
Of the last lily I may live to grow,"

IX.

"The last!" quoth she, "and though the last it were--
Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so proud
With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair,
And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd
And curtsey'd to!--last Sabbath after pray'r,
I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud
If they were angels--but I made him know
God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow!"

X.

So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk
That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng,
Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk,
And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong,
And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk,
And gold-bedizen'd beadle flames along,
And gentle peasant clad in buff and green,
Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene;

XI.

And blushing maiden--modestly array'd
In spotless white,--still conscious of the glass;
And she, the lonely widow, that hath made
A sable covenant with grief,--alas!
She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade,
While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass,
Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress
Her boy,--so rosy!--and so fatherless!

XII.

Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near
The fair white temple, to the timely call
Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear.--
Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl
Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere
Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all,
--Saying those two, that turn aside and pass,
In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass.

XIII.

Ah me! to see their silken manors trail'd
In purple luxuries--with restless gold,--
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd
In blotted black,--over the heapy mould
Panting wave-w