Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/193

And sweetest breathes, when tempests lower
To try the root, or bruise the flower.

I left thee, for a little space,
With tender word, and long embrace,
Thy brow of beauty tinted bright
With health and joy's returning light;
I came, thy step with gladness fleet,
Sprang not, as erst, mine own to meet,
Thy kiss, thy greeting smile, no more
Received me at the open door,
But where, at twilight's pensive shade,
Mid humid turf we sometimes strayed,
And lingering scanned with reverent tread
The lettered tablets of the dead,
The broken earth, the crumbling mould,
Tales of a recent tenant told,
And in my heart the curdling tide,
The speechless pang, her name supplied,
Who thus with cheek so young and fair,
In silence found a pillow there.

Since then, though many a year hath fled,
And many a wreathed hope is dead,
And other friends my heart hath found,
And strongest ties my bosom bound,
Yet when this opening morn of spring,
Again thy time of birth doth bring,