And hast thou watched thought's setting day,

And trembled, as the cold dim ray

Of soul seemed sick'ning in that eye;
And heard each deep convulsive sigh,
And known e'en that too soon must cease;

And the parched tongue thy name that blessed,
And the damp hand thine own hath pressed,
Ere long must know Destruction's peace?
That peace which Death bestows on Grief,
Vain, mocking shadow of relief!

Where none shall find a bower of rest,

But they whose toil on earth is blest,
Whose joy is Good-whose hope the Best:
For canst thou call that peace, which sears
The soul by phantoms overcast,

Sad, mirrored, shapes of moments past-
Their voice-eld sounds of ill-spent years,

Their frame-a dark reflected haze

From Sorrow's unforgotten days?

Ah! yes-Earth's sons of crime and woe

May curse their pilgrimage below,

And long each fevered sense to steep

In Death's calm dews, and changeless sleep;
But the still tomb can never close

Sin's aching eye that seeks repose,

And each lives on, ne'er more to deem
Such Life in Death a wild'ring dream,
No seraph hand its thread may sever,
And he who weeps, must weep for ever!

She had been chafed;-some slight dispute;

A word unmeant, in anger spoken;

A moment,-not resolved, but mute,

She stood, and felt Love's charm was broken!

The next-wild-fire flashed from her eye,
And fiercely said she, "Thou must die!"
Some sounds within her lips she muttered,
Not loud, nor plain-but scarcely uttered;
Yet Demons in earth's centre heard

The faint breath of each whispered word.
That very hour his cheek grew pale:-
The Maiden felt the tainted gale,

It passed her bye, and left no trace,
But blew upon her lover's face;

Such power was in the Golden Spell!
Oh! terror, that she could not tell-
And change, and grief, and prayer to save
Her loved one from the threat'ning Grave.
She rushed into his arms and prest
His hand upon her throbbing breast;
Then on his bosom faintly leaned :
She had no strength to dare the Fiend;
But placed o'er that fond heart her head,
And prayed to perish in his stead:
Her life well lost for his sweet sake,

Her hope, her joy, her loved, her lover!

If his heart freeze, then hers shall break,—
One grave shall hold,-one stone shall cover!

And how bears he this fatal time,

This day of anguish and of crime;
Her angry mood,-the stroke of Death,-
The grief that chokes her sobbing breath?

Oft had he guessed her hidden power,

He feels it in this awful hour:

Yet not by word or look he seeks

The tale, which mantles o'er her cheeks

With Fever's wild and frenzied fit.

He starts not,-moves not,-speaks not yet;
But still his black eye seems to melt
With tend'rest love,-as if he felt

For the dear Maid, and her alone.
At length, with low and gentle tone,
He softly says:-"What has thou done,
"My heart's best joy beneath the sun?
"But let not that loved face grow pale,
"I ask not for the fearful tale;

"Oh! check that sad-that useless sigh ;

"Sweeter at thy behest to die,

"Than yield this life to Arab band,

"Alone upon the desert sand;

"Or perish, stretched on battle plain.

"Our airy souls shall meet again;

"And, near the Fount of central Fire,

66

Again shall throb with soft desire

"To feel the flame we felt before,

"To live, and love, and part no more!"

He said; her tears were flowing fast,

Yet 'twas a joy to weep at last ;

And then, the keen, electric thrill

Of hope:-" And canst thou love me still? "And wilt thou? Oh! in mercy say

"Thou hat'st me not this hateful day;

"Perchance-yet may'st thou shalt thou live; "But should'st thou die,-Oh then forgive!" "My Love, my Life, my All!" he cried, And proudly strained her to his side: Then kissed her lips, her hands, her feet, And breathed with accents fond and sweet, "In peace we part-in rapture meet!"

Too soon she knew that he must die,
And the dear face that smiled its gaze,
The last of life's departing rays,

On hers, must changed and sightless lie!

And that the livid quiv'ring brow,

Where death's cold damp stands dewy now,