Sinks thro' the greensward!-is there not a cry
From the wrung heart, of power, thro' agony,

To pierce the clouds? Hear, Mercy! hear me! None
That bleed and weep beneath the smiling sun,

Have heavier cause!—yet hear!-my soul grows

dark

Who hears the last shriek from the sinking bark,

On the mid seas, and with the storm alone,

And bearing to th' abyss, unseen, unknown,

Its freight of human hearts?-th' o'ermastering wave! Who shall tell how it rush'd-and none to save?

Thou hast forsaken me! I feel, I know,

There would be rescue if this were not so.

Thou'rt at the chase, thou'rt at the festive board,

Thou'rt where the red wine free and high is pour'd,

Thou'rt where the dancers meet!

—a magic glass

Is set within my soul, and proud shapes pass,

Flushing it o'er with pomp from bower and hall;

I see one shadow, stateliest there of all,—

--

Thine!-What dost thou amidst the bright and fair, Whispering light words, and mocking my despair? It is not well of thee!-my love was more

Than fiery song may breathe, deep thought explore, And there thou smilest, while my heart is dying, With all its blighted hopes around it lying;

Ev'n thou, on whom they hung their last green leafYet smile, smile on! too bright art thou for grief!

Death!—what, is death a lock'd and treasur'd thing, Guarded by swords of fire ?2 a hidden spring,

A fabled fruit, that I should thus endure,

As if the world within me held no cure?

Wherefore not spread free wings-Heaven, Heaven!

controul

These thoughts-they rush-I look into my soul

As down a gulph, and tremble at th' array

of fierce forms crowding it! Give strength to pray, So shall their dark host

pass.

The storm is still'd.

Father in Heaven! Thou, only thou, canst sound

The heart's great deep, with floods of anguish fill'd,
For human line too fearfully profound.

Therefore, forgive, my Father! if Thy child,
Rock'd on its heaving darkness, hath grown wild,
And sinn'd in her despair! It well may be,

That Thou wouldst lead my spirit back to Thee,
By the crush'd hope too long on this world pour'd,
The stricken love which hath perchance ador'd
A mortal in Thy place! Now let me strive
With Thy strong arm no more! Forgive, forgive!
Take me to peace!

And peace at last is nigh.

A sign is on my brow, a token sent

Th' o'erwearied dust, from home: no breeze flits by,

But calls me with a strange sweet whisper, blent Of many mysteries.

Hark! the warning tone

Deepens its word is Death. Alone, alone,
And sad in youth, but chasten'd, I depart,

Bowing to heaven. Yet, yet my woman's heart
Shall wake a spirit and a power to bless,

Ev'n in this hour's o'ershadowing fearfulness,

Thee, its first love!-oh! tender still, and true!
Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw

Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name,
Tho' but a moment.

Now, with fainting frame,

With soul just lingering on the flight begun,
To bind for thee its last dim thoughts in one,
I bless thee! Peace be on thy noble head,
Years of bright fame, when I am with the dead!
I bid this prayer survive me, and retain
Its might, again to bless thee, and again!
Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate
Too much; too long, for my sake, desolate

Hath been thine exiled youth; but now take back,
From dying hands, thy freedom, and re-track
(After a few kind tears for her whose days
Went out in dreams of thee) the sunny ways
Of hope, and find thou happiness! Yet send,
Ev'n then, in silent hours a thought, dear friend!
Down to my voiceless chamber; for thy love
Hath been to me all gifts of earth above,

Tho' bought with burning tears! It is the sting
Of death to leave that vainly-precious thing

In this cold world! What were it then, if thou,
With thy fond eyes, wert gazing on me now?
Too keen a pang!-Farewell! and yet once more,
Farewell!-the passion of long years I pour

Into that word: thou hear'st not, but the wo
And fervour of its tones may one day flow

To thy heart's holy place; there let them dwell-
We shall o'ersweep the grave to meet-Farewell!