Part 19 (2/2)

The jest and song were check'd awhile, But quickly we forgot the dead, And o'er each face th' arrested smile In all its former freedom spread.

For still our circle seem'd intact.

The lofty chorus rose as well As when our numbers had not lack'd That voice the more in mirth to swell.

But we parted with a sadder mien And hands were clasped more kindly then, For each one knew where death had been We might expect him o'er again.

Ah! wondrous soon our feast before A lessening group was yearly spread, And all our joys were ruffled o'er With somber mem'ries of the dead.

The song and jest less rude became, Our voices low and looks more kind, Each toast recall'd some cherish'd name Or brought a buried friend to mind.

At length, alas! we were but two With features shrivel'd, shrunk, and changed, Whose faded eyes could scarcely view The vacant seats around us ranged.

But fancy, as we pa.s.sed the bowl, Fill'd ev'ry empty chair again.

Inform'd the silent air with soul And shaped the shadowy void to men.

The breezy air around us stirr'd With s.n.a.t.c.hes of familiar song, Nor cared we then how fancy err'd Since her delusion made us strong.

But now, I am the only guest, The grave--the grave now covers all Who joined me at the annual feast We kept in this deserted hall.

He paused and then his goblet fill'd, But never touch'd his lips the brim, His arm was stay'd, his pulses still'd, And ah! his glazing eyes grew dim.

The farther objects in the room Have vanish'd from his failing sight; One broad horizon spreads in gloom Around a lessening disc of light.

And then he seem'd like one who kept A vigil with suspended breath-- So kindly to his breast had crept Some gentlest messenger of death.

THE PAST.

Still--still the Earth each primal grace renews, And blooms, or brightens with Creation's hues: Repeats the sun the glories of the sky, Which upward lured the earliest watcher's eye; Yet bids his beams the glowing clouds adorn With all the charms of Earth's initial morn, And duplicates at eve the splendors yet That fixed the glance, that first beheld him set.

LOVED AND LOST.

Love cannot call her back again, But oh! it may presume With ceaseless accents to complain, All wildly near her tomb.

A madd'ning mirage of the mind Still bids her image rise, That form my heart can never find Yet haunts my wearied eyes.

Since Earth received its earliest dead, Man's sorrow has been vain; Though useless were the tears they shed, Still I will weep again.

The breast, that may its pangs conceal, Is not from torture freed, For still the wound, that will not heal, Alas! must inly bleed.

Vain Sophist! ask no reason why The love that cannot save, Will hover with despairing cry Around the dear ones grave.

Mine is not frenzy's sudden gust, The pa.s.sion of an hour, Which sprinkles o'er beloved dust Its brief though burning shower.

Then bid not me my tears to check, The effort would but fail, The face, I hid at custom's beck, Would weep behind its veil.

The tree its blighted trunk will rear, With sap and verdure gone, And hearts may break, yet many a year All brokenly live on.

Earth has no terror like the tomb Which hides my darling's head, Yet seeking her amid its gloom, I grope among the dead.

And oh! could love restore that form To its recovered grace, How soon would it again grow warm Within my wild embrace.

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