Doth he shed o'er heart and brain V. Dreams there be of brain-sick passion, Of such whimsies ask not I: VI. But with fiercer pain and anguish VII. Mammon spreads his glittering treasures To entrap parental eyes; Laughs to scorn our purest pleasures, VIII. Hard thy task, yet meet it, maiden, Through thy worst temptations prove IX. Better 'twere to wither slowly X. Better far that maids should sprinkle Flowers upon thy virgin grave, When the star-beams faintly twinkle, And the moon is on the wave, Than thy brow with wreaths adorn For a loveless bridal morn. XI. Better go, a saint unspotted, To thy glorious home above, Than, by this world's gauds besotted, Lose for ever life and love; Throned in empty state and show, Empress of a world of woe. XII. Yet, perchance, at length victorious With loud songs of happiness; Lead thee home in bridal pomp, XIII. Come with shouting forth to meet thee, Wife and husband, sire and son; As our new-found sister greet thee, XIV. Keep thy love, a guarded treasure, If thou rein wild fancy still XV. Murmur not;-bethink thee rather, When these pangs thy patience try, That thou hast another Father In thy home above the sky. When thine eyes with tears grow dim, Turn them patiently to Him. XVI. Welcome His consoling Spirit, Endless bliss beyond the tomb: Where, redeem'd from earthly thrall, Heavenly love is all in all. ELEGIAC STANZAS. I. THEY say that, since I wander'd last Amidst my childhood's haunts and bowers, A spirit to the skies hath past From these romantic vales of ours, For whom all gentle hearts make moan, Each feeling all the loss its own. II. And I, they say, must not withhold III. They bid me think on days long past, In dark decay's sepulchral hue: They tell me of her graceful form, IV. And they remind me of her voice, Blending their sweetness with the hymn V. They tell me that her heart was kind VI. They tell me that, in later years, Her hopes were all with Christ in Heaven; That she had wash'd her heart in tears, And felt sweet peace for sins forgiven. I doubt them not; would God that I Could thus to Time's poor trifles die! Her place in this world void for aye; For her sweet looks, and words, and song. VIII. They look and long; beside their hearth They listen for her voice in vain; By day or night, in grief or mirth, They may not hear its tones again : With craving heart and aching eye They seek her still unconsciously. |