Poems (Toke)/The last
HE last! the last! that sad, that thrilling word,How at its sound the inmost soul is stirred:From it what depths of 'whelming sorrow flow,The dirge of hope, the fullest note of woe,
THE LAST.
HE last! the last! that sad, that thrilling word,How at its sound the inmost soul is stirred:From it what depths of 'whelming sorrow flow,The dirge of hope, the fullest note of woe,The last!—fond Memory wings her rapid flight,And swift revisits all her scenes of lightThose parted hours, which e'en when tinged with pain,She weeps to think she ne'er can see again.
For oh! each well-beloved and native scene,Where every spot has long familiar been,Where many a bright and joyous hour has passed,Ne'er looks o lovely as when gazed on—last.
And when with bursting heart we hid farewellTo those more dear than ever tongue can tell,What 'whelming grief, what more than mortal pain,To think on earth we meet no more again.
Yet in the closing scene, when Death's dim eveSees Time and all its joys for ever fly,—Oh! some can smile o'er earthly perils past,And deem that hour the brightest, though the last.
E.
June, 1832.