THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty, side by side, They fill'd one home with gleeTheir graves are sever'd far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea. The same fond mother bent at night She had each folded flower in sight- One, 'midst the forests of the West, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, O'er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where southern vines are drest, Above the noble slain He wrapt his colors round his breast, On a blood-red field of Spain. And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who play'd They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheer'd with song the hearth Alas! for love, if thou wert all, And nought beyond, Oh earth! THE LAST WISH. Go to the forest shade, Seek thou the well-known glade Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie; Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep, And bath'd in hues of summer's midnight sky. Bring me their buds, to shed Around my dying bed A breath of May, and of the wood's repose; For I, in sooth, depart With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. Fain would I stay with thee Alas! this must not be ; Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Go where the fountain's breast Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. I know how softly bright, Steep'd in that tender light, The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now; Go to the pure stream's edge, And from its whispering sedge Bring me those flowers, to cool my fever'd brow. Then, as in hope's young days, Track thou the antique maze Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound; There is a lone white rose, Shedding, in sudden snows, Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around. Well know'st thou that fair tree! -A murmur of the bee Dwells ever in the honied lime above; Of all its clustering shower For on that spot we first reveal'd our love! Gather one woodbine bough, Then, from the lattice low Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark, When by the hamlet last Through dim wood-lanes we pass'd, Where dews were glancing to the glow-worm's spark. Haste! to my pillow bear Those fragrant things, and fair— My hand no more may bind them up at eve; Yet shall their odor soft One bright dream round me waft, Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave! The And oh! if thou wouldst ask, Wherefore thy steps I task grove, the stream, the hamlet-vale to trace ; When I am gone, may be The spirit bound to each familiar place. I bid mine image dwell, (Oh! break thou not the spell!) In the deep wood, and by the fountain sideThou must not, my belov'd! Rove where we two have rov'd, Forgetting her that in her spring-time died. |