Poems (Campbell)/Mary

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

For works with similar titles, see Mary.

MARY.

"Ah! why thus reclin'd on the beach, in mute sorrow,
 Dost thou strain thy dim eyes o'er the wide roaring sea;
Perhaps the wish'd bark may arrive here to-morrow,
 And the winds now be wafting thy lover to thee."

"Oh, no!" she exclaim'd, while the tear-drops were streaming,
 And the deeply-drawn sob swell'd her labouring breast,
"No longer of love, or of happiness dreaming,
 I look to the grave as the place of my rest.

Consumption's rank breath, like a mildew, destroying
 The fair, but frail blossoms of youth and of health,
No longer bright hope's lovely visions enjoying,
 I sink the pale victim of pride and of wealth.

Ah! parents too cruel! 'tis vain you're relenting;
 I die ere the dear banish'd youth can return;
And how will your hard hearts be deeply repenting,
 When you see him in agony kneel by my urn!

They sent my belov'd o'er the wide rolling ocean,
 And left me in anguish his loss to deplore;
Now melted too late by my soul's wild emotion,
 They woo him again to his own native shore.

Yet blow, blow, ye breezes, and waft my love hither;
 Yet, yet let us meet, though in anguish and pain;—
Ah! me, life recedes; like the flow'ret I wither,
 That crush'd in the storm can ne'er blossom again."

Thus ceasing, she cast a last look on the billow,
 As murmuring slow on the sea-beach it roll'd;
Then sank her fair head on the cliff's rocky pillow,
 And the rent heart of Mary was silent and cold.