84 THE MOURNING DAUGHTER.
And Hope's fond vision faded as the day Rode on in glory.
Eve her curtain drew,
And found that pale and beautiful watcher there, Still unreposing. Restless on his couch Toss'd the sick man. Cold lethargy had steep 'd Its last dead poppy in his heart's red stream, And agony was stirring Nature up To struggle with her foe.
" Father in heaven !
0, give him sleep ! " sigh'd an imploring voice ; And then she ran to hush the measur'd tick Of the dull night-clock, and to scare the owl That, clinging to the casement, hoarsely pour'd A boding note. But soon, from that lone couch, Thick coming groans announc'd the foe that strikes But once.
They bore the fainting girl away ; And paler than that ashen corse, her face, Half by a flood of ebon tresses hid, Droop'd o'er the old nurse's shoulder. It was sad To see a young heart breaking, while the old Sank down to rest.
There was another change. The mournful bell toll'd out the funeral hour, And groups came gathering to the gate where stood The sable hearse. Friends throng'd with heavy hearts And curious villagers, intent to scan
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