the condemned.
127
Her silvery voice, I hear it too,
Glad as when last we breathed adieu,
With promise soon again to meet,
At evening, in our loved retreat:
She grasps my hand in girlish play,
Then bounds with fawn-like step away.
I see her wavy hair unbound,
Which almost sweeps the very ground,
Darker than ebony—yet seems
Bright gilded with the sunset beams.
'Tis said some hand—oh! 'tis not so!—
Made from her heart the young blood flow.
It cannot be: yet why am I
Imprisoned—fettered—doomed to die?
To die; and she is dead. Ah, me!
Reality it cannot be.
Let me my wandering thoughts recall;—
Oh! now the truth is dawning all
Upon my brain:—Great God of power,
Support me in this awful hour
Of agony and of despair!
But hark! there falls upon mine ear
My keeper's tread.
Glad as when last we breathed adieu,
With promise soon again to meet,
At evening, in our loved retreat:
She grasps my hand in girlish play,
Then bounds with fawn-like step away.
I see her wavy hair unbound,
Which almost sweeps the very ground,
Darker than ebony—yet seems
Bright gilded with the sunset beams.
'Tis said some hand—oh! 'tis not so!—
Made from her heart the young blood flow.
It cannot be: yet why am I
Imprisoned—fettered—doomed to die?
To die; and she is dead. Ah, me!
Reality it cannot be.
Let me my wandering thoughts recall;—
Oh! now the truth is dawning all
Upon my brain:—Great God of power,
Support me in this awful hour
Of agony and of despair!
But hark! there falls upon mine ear
My keeper's tread.
******
Nay, tremble not,
Kind jailer, at my hapless lot;
To-morrow's noon, and all is o'er,
Then this wronged heart shall beat no more.
Kind jailer, at my hapless lot;
To-morrow's noon, and all is o'er,
Then this wronged heart shall beat no more.
