'Twas a sorrowful sight for the neighbours to see,
(When they woke from their kindlier rest,)
The beautiful girl with her innorent face,
Asleep on the corpse's breast.
Her hair flowed about by her mother's side,
And her hand on the dead hand fell;
Yet her breathing was light as the lily's roll,
When waved by the ripple's swell.
There was surely a vision of heaven's delight
Haunting her exquisite rest,
For she smiled in her sleep such a heavenly smile,
As could only beam out from the blest.
'Twas fearful as beautiful; and as they gazed, The neighbours stood whispering low,
Nor dared they remove her white arm from the dead,
Where it seemed in its fondness to grow.
Life is not always a darkling dream:
God loves our sad waking to bless-
More brightly, perchance, for the dreary shade
That heralds our happiness.
A stranger stands by that humble door,
A youth in the flush of life,
And sudden hope in his thoughtful glance
Seems with sorrow and care at strife.
Manly beauty and self-formed grace
Stand forth in each movement fair,
And speak in the turn of his well-timed step,
And shine in his wavy hair.
With travel and watchfulness worn was he,
Yet there beamed on his open brow,
Traces of faith and integrity,
Where conscience had stamped her vow.
'Twas Arthur: he gazed on those two pale forms, Soon one was clasped to his heart;
In piercing accents he called her name—
That voice made the life-blood start!
Not on the dead doth she ope her eyes-
Life, love, spread their living wings;
And she rests on her lover's breast as a child
To its nursing mother clings.
pure white tomb in the near graveyard
Betokens the widow's rest;
But Arthur has gone to his forest-home,
And shelters his dove in his nest.
THE night was dark and fearful,
The blast swept wailing by :-
A watcher, pale and tearful,
Looked forth with anxious eye:
How wistfully she gazes-
No gleam of morn is there!
And then her heart upraises
Its agony of prayer!
Within that dwelling lonely,
Where want and darkness reign,
Her precious child, her only,
Lay moaning in his pain;
And death alone can free him-
She feels that this must be :
"But oh! for morn to see him
Smile once again on me!""
A hundred lights are glancing
In yonder mansion fair,
And merry feet are dancing-
They heed not morning there :
Oh! young and lovely creatures,
One lamp, from out your store,
Would give that poor boy's features
To her fond gaze once more!
The morning sun is shining-
She heedeth not its ray;
Beside her dead, reclining,
That pale, dead mother lay!
A smile her lip was wreathing,
A smile of hope and love,
As though she still was breathing-
"There's light for us above!"
"TIs the lovely hour of twilight,
When all Nature's hushed in rest,
And the shades of day still linger
In the red and glowing west.
And the gentle wind is blowing
Perfume from the birchen trees;
Where the merry birds are singing,
Singing with that gentle breeze.
'Twas an evening just as lovely,
When we parted, Leonore;
And those merry birds were singing,
Still are singing evermore.
On a seat beneath the hanging
Of that ancient oaken tree,
There we plighted vows that never,
Never will forgotten be.
There were none to see our parting,
None to see those flowing tears;
And you told me you would love me,
Love me through fast coming years.
Leonore, though now I wander,
Far from thee, and all that's dear, Still some happy hours come o'er me, Hours that time can never sear.
Do you still prove faithful to me,
Can you lay your hand in mine, Can you, when I come to claimClaim that gentle hand of thine
Say that you are fonder, truer,
Still unchanging unto me,
Than you were when first we plighted
Plighted 'neath that oaken tree?
Shall I clasp the same fond creature
To this wildly beating heart,
And when nestling here, feel conscious
That we never more shall part?
Yes, dear Leonore, I see thee,
On the self-same trysting spot
Where we parted years that's faded-
Faded, though they're not forgot.
Happy hour, that brought me safely
To my boyhood's mountain home;
And I feel that, while you love me,
I again will never roam.
That I ne'er again will wander
From my home and Leonore,
And the merry birds are singing,
Singing as in days of yore.
WE met as strangers, who had been By love's great tie united; And on the spot where heart to heart Our deathless love we plighted. Her silver veil bedecked a brideHer lip yet wore the vow; The orange blossom had not left Its dear home on her brow. Her life and bloom had not departed, She still was wondrous fair; O, there was one still happy-heartel, And one that must despair!
We met as strangers-yes, her eye
Glanced vacantly to mine;
And while it waked my soul to fire,
Left cold her bosom's shrine.
Bright had been her flowing path,
And joyous her career;
Her love for me had faded, cooled,
And died within a year.
New suitors came-her vacant heart
Was ready to be sold;
The highest bidder won the prize,
And paid in gems and gold.
I had been far o'er land and sea,
And through the weary years,
Had watched the sleepless thought of her,
With sighs, and prayers, and tears.
And back from all my pilgrimage,
Intact by sin or shame,
Had brought a heart that wore inscribed
No impress but her name.
And thus upon her bridal night,
Within that trysting bower,
We met by chance-she knew me not-
O God, efface that hour!
THE graceful and the beautiful,
The gentle, kind, and airy,
Together met, to mould the form,
And gift the mind of Mary;
There's nature in each careless curl,
In every grace a moral;
Her mouth-'tis Cupid's mouth-sweet girl,
And full of pearls and coral.
She's like the keystone to an arch
That consummates all beauty;
She's like the music to a march,
Which sheds a joy on duty.
All happy thought and feelings rife
Seem evermore to guide her;
The very ills and cares of life
Forget themselves beside her!
Each sweet expressive glance appears
Of nature's best selection;
It took the world six thousand years
To perfect such perfection.
All gifts divine that could combine,
With charms of nymph and fairy,
Agree to grace one beauteous face,
To witch the world with Mary.
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