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ROSALIE.
There was a grave just closed. Not one seemed near,
To pay the tribute of one long—last tear!
How very desolate must that one be,
Whose more than grave has not a memory!
Then Rosalie thought on her mother's age,—
Just such her end would be with her away:
No child the last cold death-pang to assuage—
No child by her neglected tomb to pray!
She asked—and like a hope from Heaven it came!—
To hear them answer with a stranger's name.
She reached her mother's cottage; by that gate
She thought how her once lover wont to wait
To tell her honied tales!—and then she thought
On all the utter ruin he had wrought!
