And her last fond, lingering look is given To the love she leaves, and then to heaven, As if she would bear that love away
To a purer world and a brighter day.
SHE sat beside her lover, and her hand Rested upon his clay-cold forehead.
Was calmly stealing o'er him, and his life Went out by silent flickerings, when his eye Woke up from its dim lethargy, and cast
Bright looks of fondness on her.
Too weak to utter all his heart.
Was now his only language, and it spake How much he felt her kindness, and the love That sat, when all had fled, beside him. Night Was far upon its watches, and the voice
Of nature had no sound. The pure blue sky Was fair and lovely, and the many stars Look'd down in tranquil beauty on an earth That smiled in sweetest summer. She look'd out Through the raised window, and the sheeted bay Lay in a quiet sleep below, and shone With the pale beam of midnight-air was still, And the white sail, that o'er the distant stream Moved with so slow a pace, it seem'd at rest,
Fix'd in the glassy water, and with care
Shunn'd the dark den of pestilence, and stole Fearfully from the tainted gale that breathed Softly along the crisping wave-that sail Hung loosely on its yard, and as it flapp'd, Caught moving undulations from the light, That silently came down, and gave the hills, And spires, and walls, and roofs, a tint so pale, Death seem'd on all the landscape--but so still, Who would have thought that anything but peace And beauty had a dwelling there! The world Had gone, and life was not within those walls, Only a few, who linger'd faintly on Waiting the moment of departure; or Sat tending at their pillows, with a love So strong it master'd fear-and they were few, And she was one-and in a lonely house, Far from all sight and sound of living thing, She watched the couch of him she loved, and drew Contagion from the lips that were to her
Still beautiful as roses, though so pale
They seem'd like a thin snow-curl. All was still, And even so deeply hush'd, the low, faint breath That trembling gasp'd away, came through the night As a loud sound of awe. She pass'd her hand Over those quivering lips, that ever grew Paler and colder, as the only sign To tell her life still linger'd-it went out! And her heart sank within her, when the last Weak sigh of life was over, and the room Seem'd like a vaulted sepulchre, so lone
She dared not look around: and the light wind, That play'd among the leaves and flowers that grew Still freshly at her window, and waved back The curtain with a rustling sound, to her, In her intense abstraction, seem'd the voice Of a departed spirit. Then she heard, At least in fancy heard, a whisper breathe Close at her ear, and tell her all was done,
And her fond loves were ended. She had watch'd Until her love grew manly, and she check'd The tears that came to flow, and nerved her heart To the last solemn duty. With a hand
That trembled not, she closed the fallen lid,
And press'd the lips, and gave them one long kiss— Then decently spread over all a shroud;
And sitting with a look of lingering love Intense in tearless passion, rose at length, And pressing both her hands upon her brow, Gave loose to all her gushing grief in showers, Which, as a fountain seal'd till it had swell'd To its last fulness, now gave way and flow'd In a deep stream of sorrow. She grew calm, And parting back the curtains, look'd abroad Upon the moonlight loveliness, all sunk In one unbroken silence, save the moan
From the lone room of death, or the dull sound Of the slow-moving hearse. The homes of men Were now all desolate, and darkness there, And solitude and silence took their seat In the deserted streets, as if the wing Of a destroying angel had gone by,
And blasted all existence, and had changed The gay, the busy, and the crowded mart To one cold, speechless city of the dead.
DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow; From coral rocks the sea plants lift
Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below,
For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter: There with a light and easy motion,
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea :
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms, Has made the top of the waves his own; And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore; Then far below in the peaceful sea,
The purple mullet, and gold fish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly,
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.
ON thy fair bosom, silver lake! The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale.
On thy fair bosom, waveless stream! The dipping paddle echoes far, And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star.
The waves along thy pebbly shore, As blows the north wind, heave their foam, And curl around the dashing oar,
As late the boatman hies him home.
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