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SONNET.
In the pale shadows of the silent night,
Mend beloved! thy form once more I saw,
Not as restored from death, with trembling awe,
But still in all its living beauty bright;
Thy smile was breathing still its calm delight—
Thine eye with purest beams of genius shone—
The music of thy voice—all was thine own,
And fear and sorrow vanished at thy sight.
Again, as in the years gone by, I turned
To hear thee speak the words of peace and love,
Till my thoughts soared all earthly griefs above,
And in my heart a holier spirit burned—
Ah! friend beloved! too soon I woke to shed
The tears of memory o'er thy narrow bed!
Mend beloved! thy form once more I saw,
Not as restored from death, with trembling awe,
But still in all its living beauty bright;
Thy smile was breathing still its calm delight—
Thine eye with purest beams of genius shone—
The music of thy voice—all was thine own,
And fear and sorrow vanished at thy sight.
Again, as in the years gone by, I turned
To hear thee speak the words of peace and love,
Till my thoughts soared all earthly griefs above,
And in my heart a holier spirit burned—
Ah! friend beloved! too soon I woke to shed
The tears of memory o'er thy narrow bed!
