Page:Summer on the lakes, in 1843.djvu/110

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SUMMER ON THE LAKES.
“Death
Opens her sweet white arms, and whispers Peace;
Come, say thy sorrows in this bosom! This
Will never close against thee, and my heart,
Though cold, cannot be colder much than man's.”
 
 “I wish I were where Helen lies,”
A lover in the times of old,
 Thus vents his grief in lonely sighs,
And hot tears from a bosom cold.
 
 But, mourner for thy martyred love,
Could'st thou but know what hearts must feel,
 Where no sweet recollections move,
Whose tears a desert fount reveal.
 
 When “in thy arms burd Helen fell,”
She died, sad man, she died for thee,
 Nor could the films of death dispel
Her loving eye's sweet radiancy.
 
 Thou wert beloved, and she had loved,
Till death alone the whole could tell,
 Death every shade of doubt removed,
And steeped the star in its cold well.
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul
Relies, — earth has no more to give;
 Who wholly loves has known the whole,
The wholly loved doth truly live.
 
 But some, sad outcasts from this prize,
Wither down to a lonely grave,
 All hearts their hidden love despise,
And leave them to the whelming wave.