A DEAD LETTER. "A cœur blessé-l'ombre et le silence." H. DE BALZAC. I I. DREW it from its china tomb; It came out feebly scented With some thin ghost of past perfume An old, old letter,-folded still! That glimmering in the sultry haze, Slumbered like Goldsmith's Madam Blaize, A queer old place! You'd surely say Had planned it in Dutch William's day So trim it was. The yew-trees still, With pious care perverted, Grew in the same grim shapes; and still The lipless dolphin spurted; Still in his wonted state abode And still the cypress-arbour showed Only,—as fresh young Beauty gleams So peeped from its old-fashioned dreams For idle mallet, hoop, and ball A magazine, a tumbled shawl, Round which the swifts were flying; And, tossed beside the Guelder rose, "A place to love in,-live,-for aye, If we too, like Tithonus, Could find some God to stretch the gray, Scant life the Fates have thrown us; |