All felt that he was sinking to the grave.
He wandered like a ghost around; would lean,
For hours, and watch the river; or would lie
Beneath some aged tree, and hear the birds
Singing so cheerfully; and with faint step
Would sometimes try the mountain side. He loved
To look upon the setting sun, and mark
The twilight's dim approach. He said he was
Most happy that all through his life one wish
Had still been present on his soul—the wish
That he might breathe his native air again;—
That prayer was granted, for he died at home.
One wept for him when other eyes were dry,
Treasured his name in silence and in tears,
Till her young heart's impassioned solitude
Was filled but with his image. She had soothed
And watched his last few hours—but he was gone!
The grave to her was now the goal of hope:
She pass'd, but gently as the rose-leaves fall
Scattered by the spring gales. Two months had fled
Since Ronald died; they threw the summer flowers
Upon his sod, and ere those leaves were tinged
With autumn's yellow colours, they were twined
For the poor Ellen's death-wreaths! - - - -
—They made her grave by Ronald's.L. E. L.
