THE EMIGRANTS' RETURN.
249
"We come, but bring not Emily,"
At length a mourner said;
"Within the far-off wilderness,
Her silent form is laid.
And the dirge that swelled above her grave,
In the hour of our distress,
Still fills the forest with its tone
Of mournful tenderness.
At length a mourner said;
"Within the far-off wilderness,
Her silent form is laid.
And the dirge that swelled above her grave,
In the hour of our distress,
Still fills the forest with its tone
Of mournful tenderness.
"Yon sweet-brier flings its fragrant breath
Around upon the air;
To us it brings the thought of death,
For once her form was there.
And the low sweet music of her voice,
So gentle, her own
Possessing, e'en from infancy,
A melancholy tone!
Around upon the air;
To us it brings the thought of death,
For once her form was there.
And the low sweet music of her voice,
So gentle, her own
Possessing, e'en from infancy,
A melancholy tone!
"One eye, you may remember well,
The last we ever spent
At this old homestead, ere to seek
Another home we went;
When hearts were full, and eyes were dim,
And tears were on the cheek;
And we felt the utter agony
We would, but could not, speak."
The last we ever spent
At this old homestead, ere to seek
Another home we went;
When hearts were full, and eyes were dim,
And tears were on the cheek;
And we felt the utter agony
We would, but could not, speak."
She was the calmest one of all,
And yet the saddest too;
For her cheek was pale, though not a tear
Was in her eye of blue.
And yet the saddest too;
For her cheek was pale, though not a tear
Was in her eye of blue.
