Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/256

While fragrant summer's laden gale
    And fall of murmuring stream,
With Nature's holiest hush, conspire
    To lull the lingering dream.

But wherefore, do those clasping hands
    Repose so still and meek?
Nor breath disturb the tress that lies
    Thus lightly on her cheek?
And wherefore, on those parted lips
    Doth that rich music sleep
Which mov'd Affection's bounding pulse
    To rapture strong and deep?

Ah!—lift not thus the drapery's fold!
    I see what death has wrought,
Who proudly to his bridal-couch
    This royal victim brought;
Yet spar'd her tender form to rend
    From this embowering shade,
And where she most had joy'd to roam,
    Her last long mansion made.

And here, the Father of his realm
    With lonely step doth steal,
And take that sorrow to his heart,
    Which lowliest mourners feel,
Here too, his princely offspring bring
    Affection's woven flowers,
And keep the mother's memory fresh,
    Who charm'd their cradle-hours.

Farewell, thou beautiful and blest,.
    Whose sceptred hand did bind