But anon the sun is setting, and the breeze has died away,
And the curtain and the sunbeam cease to quiver and to play,
And the spell so deeply woven round the dreamer seems to part,
Till the tide of life comes rushing faster from his fettered heart,
And his own unconscious murmurs wake him with a sudden start.
Hard upon his fevered eyelids presses he his trembling hand,
While a troop of white-winged visions vanish at his sad command;
Still he murmurs lightly to them, whispers to them o'er and o'er,
As he paces, in the twilight, noiselessly the chamber floor,
Murmuring ever, like a river, one same sound, and that Lenore!
Talking to his love in heaven, she who never leaves his side,
Hovering near, a winged spirit, still his angel and his bride;
Counting ceaselessly the hoarded treasures of his memory's store;
Burning out his heart in incense at the shrine he loved of yore,
Haunted by the "rare and radiant" maiden of his heart, Lenore.
A DUET.
MIRIAM BY FRANCES A., AND SYBIL BY METTA V. FULLER.
"There's a strange glow upon thy cheek to-day,
And an unnatural luster in thine eye;
And often o'er thy red lip's restless play,
The mournful tones steal forth and quivering die.
Miriam, thy glance doth startle me as strange,
There is such deep intenseness in its gaze;
Surely thy heart hath felt some sudden change—
Some heavy sorrow on thy spirit lays."
