LOUISE.
109
That pale, fair girl, who bends so mournfully
Above yon sufferer's couch! she, whose dark eye
Is filled with tears to think lie thus should die,
He of the high-toned heart, should die alone,
With none beside herself to hear the moan
From his expiring lips—to hear some note
Of sudden melody a moment float
Upon the air, then pass to Heaven away,
Like the sweet song of birds ere break of day;
Or as some soul longing to leave its prison,
Sent the glad note for which the angels listen.
Above yon sufferer's couch! she, whose dark eye
Is filled with tears to think lie thus should die,
He of the high-toned heart, should die alone,
With none beside herself to hear the moan
From his expiring lips—to hear some note
Of sudden melody a moment float
Upon the air, then pass to Heaven away,
Like the sweet song of birds ere break of day;
Or as some soul longing to leave its prison,
Sent the glad note for which the angels listen.
The weary days passed by with heavy tread,
As if they wished to linger for the dead;
The hearse-like night moved on, and seemed to wait
With solemn touch and melancholy gait,
For the expected guest—the hours crept by,
And loitered to receive his latest sigh;
Yet still she watched beside that bed of death,
Caught his last glance and heard his last drawn breath;
And when she knew his sun of life had set,
Poured forth her song of sorrow and regret.
As if they wished to linger for the dead;
The hearse-like night moved on, and seemed to wait
With solemn touch and melancholy gait,
For the expected guest—the hours crept by,
And loitered to receive his latest sigh;
Yet still she watched beside that bed of death,
Caught his last glance and heard his last drawn breath;
And when she knew his sun of life had set,
Poured forth her song of sorrow and regret.
"Alone beside the dead! alone
Beside the dreamless dead!
With not a voice beside mine own
To wail the spirit fled,
Beside the dreamless dead!
With not a voice beside mine own
To wail the spirit fled,
