FANNY LEIGH.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. TOOGOOD.
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Unskilled in lore was Fanny Leigh,
But learned in wisdom mild,
That glowed all soft and tenderly
In that meek, blue-eyed child.
And why the sigh? why sad the brow?
She conned it o’er and o’er,
And found out anxious thoughts, and how
They prey upon the poor.
Her soft young hands, she did not fear,
Could aid the feeble old:
How blest for her to wipe their tear,
And clothe them from the cold!
And she hath left the rose-clad cot,
From youth’s one home to part,
Armed with resolve—revealing not
What tempest at her heart.
None saw the drops that dimmed her eye,
When a sad breeze and keen
Came answering with a long-lorn sigh
From that still village scene.
Forth hath she gone—a summer boat
Skims o’er the glassy bay
With slender strength—nor dreads to float
Where the stern waters lay.
Forth hath she gone, from dewy field,
And used to fondest care,
To try the desert—will it yield
One shelter from the glare?
Where Innocence is shamed to quail
Before the worldling’s mirth;
And beautiful will learn to veil
Its scorned, yet heavenly birth.
Forth so she went, yet ’mid the pest,
The blast of noxious night;
A lamp burned stedfast at her breast,
And cast its certain light.
And oft she heard a mellowed tone
Streaming above the din;
A Voice that loves the pure and lone,
And strengthens them within.
O! there was joy, even unto pain,
When, passed those days so drear,
As music, Fanny’s steps again
Fell on each aged one’s ear.
And who, the gladdest of the glad,
Stands at the gate? I pray.
Is’t he who then a very lad
So wept her going away?
’Tis he, who, while he fed his flowers,
(Stronger her bright chain grew,)
Saw constantly through haunted hours
Those eyes of gentlest blue.