Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/140

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POEMS.
Was often absent from the patriarch's board;The slippers hung no longer in the porch;And sometimes after summer nights her couchWas found unpressed at dawn, and well they knewThat she was wandering with the race who makeTheir dwelling in the waters. Oft her looksFixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited wordTold that her thoughts were far away. In vainHer brothers reasoned with her tenderly."Oh leave not thus thy kindred;" so they prayed;"Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birthIs in her grave, oh go not hence, to seekCompanions in that strange cold realm below,For which God made not us nor thee, but stayTo be the grace and glory of our home."She looked at them with those mild eyes and wept,
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