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So wearily she lay; so
sweetly slept;
So by her side fond watch the mother kept;
And, as above her gentle child she bent,
So like they seemed in form and lineament,
You might have deemed her face its shadow gave
To the clear mirror of a fountain's wave;
Only in this they differed; that, while one
Was warm and radiant as the Summer sun,
The other's smile had more a moonlight play,
For many tears had wept its glow away;
Yet was she fair; of loveliness so true,
That time, which faded, never could subdue:
And though the sleeper, like a half-blown rose,
Showed bright as angels in her soft repose,
Though bluer veins ran through each snowy lid,
Curtaining sweet eyes, by long dark lashes hid -
Eyes that as yet had never learnt to weep,
But woke up smiling, like a child's, from sleep;
Though fainter lines were pencilled on the brow,
Which cast soft shadow on the orbs below;
Though deeper colour flushed her youthful cheek,
In its smooth curve more joyous and less meek,
And fuller seemed the small and crimson mouth,
With teeth like those that glitter in the South, -
She had but youth's superior brightness, such
As the skilled painter gives with flattering touch
When he would picture every lingering grace
Which once shone brighter in some copied face;
And it was compliment, whene'er she smiled,
To say, "Thou'rt like thy mother, my fair child!"
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