Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Weeper
THE WEEPER.
Saw ye the mourner reclining Where the damp earth was her bed,And the young ivy-vines, twining, Mantled the house of the dead?
Heard ye the voice of the weeper Rise with the herald of day,Calling aloud to the sleeper, Bidding him hasten away?
Felt ye her wild notes of sorrow Thrilling your bosoms with pain?Dark is the wanderer's morrow— So she must slumber again!
Dim s her glimmering taper; Fast she is sinking to rest.Soon shall the evening vapor Gather unfelt, o'er her breast.
Sorrow too long has been wearing String after string from her heart;Now, her own finger is bearing On the last thread that can part!
Cold was the draught she has tasted; Pale are the lips it has passed;Now, every sand-grain is wasted; Death hag released her at last!
She, who so lately was weeping, Wounded, despairing and lost,At rest is now quietly sleeping! Life's troubled waters are crossed!