This page has been validated.
8
HELEN’S TOMB.
At morn a dew bathed rose I past,
All lovely on its native stalk,
Unmindful of the noon day blast,
That strew’d it on my evening walk.
So. when the morn of life awoke,
My hopes sat bright on fancy’s bloom,
Forgetful of the death-aimed stroke,
That laid them in my Helen’s tomb.
Watch there my hopes! watch Helen sleep,
Nor more with sweet-lipped Fancy rave,
But with the long grass sigh, and weep
At dewy eve by Helen’s grave.
