Edith was bent; her every faculty
Intent on rescuing from the common heap
Her separate goods, like some sage shepherdess
Drawing her own from forth commingled flocks,
When moved Nooravah up to where she stood,
Flush'd with unwonted toil, her hair dispread
In lustrous folds—her arm to the elbow bared.
And all her flexile limbs with gracious strength
Strung, like some Arab charger, fiery-eyed.
With sinewy power dilatiug all its form.

She took no heed; but soon the savage Queen
Touch'd her, and smiled, and pointed to her heart,
And said in liquid words, that in their sound
Bore meaning, though the language was unknown,
"Nooravah loves you." Then she laid her hand
On the long tresses, smoothing them all their length,
And call'd Paomi. Edith smiled and spoke,
And felt a yearning to them in her heart
As those who yet should listen to her voice,
And follow where she led to pastures new.

Nooravah mark'd no other in the ship,
But fix'd her eyes on Edith all the day,
And help'd her in her troubles, gathering up
Parcels and veils and shawls, and laugh'd aloud
When she had raised boxes of mightiest size
Which Edith strove in vain to push to a side.
And when the boat return'd, and all was pack'd
Along her floor, and piled above the seats,
Till scarce the levell'd oars had room to move,
Nooravah would not part from Edith's side,
But slid impetuous down the dangling rope
And sate beside her; and when fear made pale
Her fair companion's cheek, as roll'd the bark
With gunwale down, she press'd her in her arms;
And so in Queen Nooravah's fond embrace
Edith lay calm; and love conjoin'd the twain.

And when they reach'd the house, Nooravah look'd
Well pleased round all the rooms, and followed close
On tiptoe to the chamber, dim and cool,
Where sat kind sister Marfeldt by a bed
Watching the child. Nooravah stopt to gaze,
Her hand in Edith's. Then, as if at once,
A thought pass'd through her soul, she knew not what,
She darted to the couch, and lifted up
The sheet, and gentle-handed, turn'd aside
The shawl that wrapt the babe, and gazed and gazed
Upon her breast; and then, with big round tears
In her full eyes, she shook her head and sigh'd,
As those who seek the thing they cannot find.

Was it Banoolah's image that rose up
Before the mother's heart, till all the chords
Of her deep inner being felt the stir
Of unaccustom'd thoughts, like sudden gusts
That shake the sleeping woods, we know not why?

"Oh! blessed sight!" said Marfeldt, when at eve
The Christian band held commune, " blessed sight,
The tears that flow'd down fierce Nooravah's face,
And the sweet smile that follow'd Edith's steps,
And the awaken'd softness that well'd forth
On Edith's babe, for where such feelings dwell,
Behold! our loving God is nigh at hand!"

Then told they mutual stories of their lives,
Where each was born, what home they first bad known,
Their fathers' names. And when to Edith's turn.
These sweet unfoidings of the past came round,
Long time she paused, and blushing told at last
How all her years were dumb and had no voice
Till she was standing by her uncle's knee;

Yet not her uncle, but a loving heart
Which found her friendless, cast aside by all,
Like flower, chance-scatter' d on a nameless grave
And gave her home beside him, home and love.
But never had she seen a father's smile,
Nor felt a mother's hand upon her head.

"Yet are you not unhappy," Elliot said,
"No, nor yet friendless, for who knows you best
Loves you the most." Then added with a smile,
'Our fathers were plebeians; mine rose high,
And once was mayor of a country town;
But who can tell what great progenitors,
Howards, and mighty knights, and lords and earls,
Full quarter'd as the old Plantagenets,
Can boast a dear descendant such as you?
Haply some morn the fairy of your fate
Will tap three taps upon your chamber-door
And say, ' Come forth, fair princess; for the king,
Your royal father, longs to see your face.'"
They laugh'd, nor thought more meanly of their friend
That she had none to love but only them.

Next morning, soon as daylight touch' d the sea,
Nooravah lifted soft the wicket latch,
And laid a basket fill'd with fruit and flowers
Upon the window-sill where Edith slept,—
And slow withdrew, with many a look behind,
To mark if haply to the lattice came
The face she wish'd to see. But no one moved.
And day by day Nooravah placed her chair
By Edith's side, and taught her all the sounds
And soft inflexions of her Island tongue.—
And soon with ready lips could Edith tell
Of Heaven and all its hopes; and like a rain
In thirsty ground, her gentle words sank in.

As some lone tarn far up amid the hills,
Cloud-circled 'neath a thunder-laden sky,
Lies in thick gloom, till comes the mid-day sun
And shines upon its face; so from the heart
Of dark Nooravah every shadow fell,
And night was brighten'd into perfect day.

Paomi died; his hand in Edith's hand,
His eye with dying light on Edith's face.
"I go," he said, " to see the loving eyes
I ne'er shall see on earth; to look again
On the light limbs, to hear the happy voice
Of young Banoolah, at the feet of God."
Long Edith sat beside the savage king,
Savage no more, and heard him, with faint breathy
Whisper " Banoolah; " still, as if a charm
Lay in the sound, " Banoolah " to his lips
Came when he slept the uneasy sleep of pain,
Or when he waked within the shadow of Death.

A thousand thoughts flutter'd in Edith's heart,
Dim, fitful, with mysterious whisperings,—
Like leaves in midnight on a breezy hill—
But nought she spoke, as if her spirit lay
Imprison' d in a spell she could not break.

Slow-paced and sunken-eyed, Nooravah came
And sat whole days in Edith's little room,
In voiceless grief, and hung o'er Edith's child,
Her Rachel, whether playing wild with glee,
Or silent listening with her great round eyes
To tales her mother told.—" But thirty moons
Had seen Banoolah when she pass'd away;
And Rachel now has thirty moons," she said,
"And what a life before her fill'd with joy!"