Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
But in vain, for all seems closed for ever;
Thus the fairest part of life is madly passed
Free from storm, but resting never;
To thy sorrow thou'rt to-day repelled
By what yesterday obeyed thee.
Can that world by thee be worthy held
Which so oft betrayed thee?
Which 'mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
Lived in selfish, unconcerned repose?
See, the soul its secret cells regains,
And the heart—makes haste to close.
Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
"She's worthy of all love!" I cried,
And prayed that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.
MORNING LAMENT.
Oh, thou cruel, deadly-lovely maiden.
Tell me what great sin have I committed,
That thou keepest me to the rack thus fastened,
That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness
Pressed my hand, and these sweet accents murmured:
"Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth,
Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber."
On the latch I left my doors, unfastened,
Having first with care tried all the hinges,
And rejoiced right well to find they creaked not.
What a night of expectation passed I!
