Eliza Acton

Gertrude

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She knelt in pray'r before th' eternal throne
Of the Most High,--her streaming eyes uprais'd,--
Her white hands clasp'd convulsively,--her cheek,
With the heart's passion pale. She did not ask
Pardon, or blessing, for herself, nor those
For whom her pure petitions once were pour'd,
In meek devotion's holiest spirit, forth.--
Her youth's affections were as nothing now
To that lost girl; --for her the world contain'd
One only Being; and to him she bow'd
In wild, and dark idolatry of soul.

With most intense, and passionate fervency,
She pray'd for him;--she bent before her God
In mockery of worship, for each thought
Was chain'd to earth, and ev'ry hope entwin'd
Round him she lov'd so madly. She but wish'd
To live for him;--to die, if change should steal
Over a breast, whose tend'rest beatings now
Were all for her.--Soon was that wish fulfill'd !

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Eliza Acton