TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
Brilliant and beautiful!—And can it be
That in thy radiant eye there dwells no light—
Upon thy cheek no smile?—I little deemed
At our last parting, when thy cheering voice
Breathed the soul's harmony, what shadowy form
Then rose between us, and with icy dart
Wrote, "Ye shall meet no more." I little deemed
That thy elastic step, Death's darkened vale
Would tread before me.
Friend! I shrink to say
Farewell to thee. In youth's unclouded morn
We gaze on friendship as a graceful flower,
And win it for our pleasure, or our pride.
But when the stern realities of life
Do clip the wings of fancy, and cold storms
Rack the worn cordage of the heart, it breathes
A healing essence, and a strengthening charm,
Next to the hope of heaven. Such was thy love,
Departed and deplored. Talents were thine
Lofty and bright, the subtle shaft of wit,
And that keen glance of intellect which reads,
Intuitive, the deep and mazy springs
Of human action. Yet such meek regard
For other's feelings, such a simple grace
And singleness of purpose, such respect
To woman's noiseless duties sweetly blent,
And tempered those high gifts, that every heart
That feared their splendour, loved their goodness too.
I see thy home of birth. Its pleasant halls
