190
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
They hear the wind's low sigh,
And the river sweeping free,
And the green reeds murmuring heavily,
And the woods—but they hear not thee!
Long have I striven
With my deep foreboding soul,
But the full tide now its bounds hath riven,
And darkly on must roll.
There's a young brow smiling near,
With a bridal white-rose wreath,
Unto me it smiles from a flowery bier,
Touch'd solemnly by death!
Fair art thou Morna!
The sadness of thine eye
Is beautiful as silvery clouds
On the dark-blue summer sky!
