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mesmerism.
XXXVI.
Restored in heaven! an angel with her palm,
But not my child—my bride.
Speak, man of God! can heaven this anguish calm,
That on my heart, she died?
Alas! alas! the bliss foregone
Will pierce my heart before God's throne.
But not my child—my bride.
Speak, man of God! can heaven this anguish calm,
That on my heart, she died?
Alas! alas! the bliss foregone
Will pierce my heart before God's throne.
XXXVII.
Seraph! with thy serene immortal eyes!
Not thee, not thee I seek.
I miss the little hand, the low replies,
The golden hair, the cheek,
With its faint rose blush . . . yes, I rave
Of life, and yonder is her grave!
Not thee, not thee I seek.
I miss the little hand, the low replies,
The golden hair, the cheek,
With its faint rose blush . . . yes, I rave
Of life, and yonder is her grave!
XXXVIII.
You tell me, Preacher, patience conquers grief.
Am I not patient? see,
Am I not calm? when have I sought relief
I bear my misery
Without a tear, with scarce a sigh,
My sole impatience—that I die
Am I not patient? see,
Am I not calm? when have I sought relief
I bear my misery
Without a tear, with scarce a sigh,
My sole impatience—that I die
