ALETHE.
Reading edition
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BY J. S. FRELIGH.
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I saw Alethe—she was young and fair:
A rose-bud op’ning to the balmy spring;
And as she knelt in holy, fervent prayer,
Her youthful heart to God surrendering,
The music of her voice in murmurs low,
Sounded like tones of sweetest melody,
Half-waking heard—or like the silver flow
Of some lone woodland stream—she seem’d to be
A type of perfect beauty—Heav’nly symmetry.
Again I saw Alethe.—It was where
Dwelt sickness, poverty, and misery deep—
Where prison-walls enclos’d a parent dear;
And like an angel, she had come to keep
Watch while he slept—to comfort him—to pray.
In innocence she came, like Mercy’s dove,
With healing balm, to sooth his care away!
Oh! such sweet tenderness—such holy love,
Must be akin to that in the bright world above!
Once more I saw Alethe—at her breast
Hung a sweet infant, and the radiant smile
That revell’d round its lips while calm at rest,
Was like the smile of cherubs,—free from guile.
Ethereal—bright—surpassing Fancy’s dreaming,
The mother shone—for Fancy ne’er could paint
Aught so much like a guardian Angel beaming
In full beneficence upon a saint
As sweetly innocent—as free from earthly taint.
St. Louis, 1841.