f
wondrous and mysterious thoughts, which flow to thee from other worlds;
and though thy languid eyes droop wearily their fringes, though thy
cheek is pale, and thy breast bent and contracted, yet all who meet thee
stop to gaze, exclaiming: '_What a little angel!_'

If the dying flowers had a living soul inspired from heaven; if, in
place of dewdrops, each drooping leaf were bent to earth with the
thought of an angel, such flowers would resemble thee, fair child!

And thus, before the fall, they may, perchance, have bloomed in
Paradise!

A graveyard. The Man and George are seen sitting by a grave, over
which stands a gothic monument, with arches, pillars, and mimic
towers.

THE MAN. Take off thy hat, George, kneel, and pray for thy mother's
soul!

GEORGE. Hail, Mary, full of grace! Mary, Queen of Heaven, Lady of all
that blooms on earth, that scents the fields, that paints the fringes of
the streams ...

THE MAN. Why changest thou the words of the prayer? Pray for thy mother
as thou hast been taught to do; for thy dear mother, George, who
perished in her youth, just ten years ago this very day and hour.

GEORGE. Hail, Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee! I know that
thou art blessed among the angels, and as thou glidest softly through
them, each one plucks a rainbow from his wings to cast under thy feet,
and thou floatest softly on upon them as if borne by waves....

THE MAN. George!

GEORGE. Be not angry with me, father! these words _force_ themselves
into my mind; they pain me so dreadfully in my head, that I must say
them....

THE MAN. Rise, George. Such prayers will never reach God!

Thou art not thinking of thy mother; thou dost not love her!

GEORGE. I love her. I see mamma very often.

THE MAN. Where, my son?

GEORGE. In dreams--yet not exactly in dreams, but just as I am going to
sleep. I saw her yesterday.

THE MAN. What do you mean, George?

GEORGE. She looked so pale and thin!

THE MAN. Has she ever spoken to you, darling?

GEORGE. She goes wandering up and down--through an immense Dark--she
roams about entirely alone, so white and so pale! She sang to me
yesterday. I will tell thee the words of her song:

'I wander through the universe,
I search through infinite space,
I press through Chaos, Darkness,
To bring thee light and grace;
I listen to the angels' song
To catch the heavenly tone;
Seek every form of beauty,
To