But art thou sure the goddess leads The fairest shells for me to seek, The rose that blossomed on his cheek 15 Exulting in his form and face, Through the bright veil that beauty wove, A soul-all harmony and love! 20 Fair as the dreams by fancy given, 25 More lovely than the morning ray, And since that agonizing hour, That sowed the seed of mourning years, 30 I see it through a mother's tears. Soon was my dream of bliss o'ercast, A few dark days of terror past, And joy and Frederick bloom no more. Melesina Trench. 35 CCXLVIII THE DEATH BED. We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. We thought her dying when she slept, For when the morn came dim and sad, Her quiet eyelids closed-she had 15 Thomas Hood. CCXLIX LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCHYARD, YORKSHIRE. Methinks it is good to be here; If Thou wilt, let us build-but for whom? Nor Elias nor Moses appear, But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, Shall we build to Ambition? oh, no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away; For see! they would pin him below, 5 In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, To Beauty? ah, no!-she forgets Nor knows the foul worm that he frets 10 The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, Shall we build to the purple of Pride The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside; And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed, 19 But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? alas! 'tis in vain; Who hid, in their turns have been hid: The treasures are squandered again; And here in the grave are all metals forbid, But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin-lid. 25 To the pleasures which Mirth can afford The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, 30 Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah, no! they have withered and died, Or fled with the spirit above; Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 35 Unto Sorrow?—The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve! Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, nor fear- 40 Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah, no! for his empire is known, And here there are trophies enow! Beneath the cold dead, and around-the dark stone, The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfilled; And the third to the Lamb of the great Sacrifice, 45 49 Who bequeathed us them both when He rose to the skies. CCL Herbert Knowles. Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Unfathomable Sea? 5 10 Percy Bysshe Shelley. CCLI SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, 5 Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, He had lived for his love, for his country he died, 10 Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own loved island of sorrow. Thomas Moore. CCLII REMEMBRANCE. Cold in the earth-and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only love, to love thee, 14 Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover 5 Cold in the earth-and fifteen wild Decembers, Sweet love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, No later light has lightened up my heaven, ΙΟ 15 20 |