HERE'S a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, This was not the beauty-oh, nothing like this, New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when shaken. any When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. ENEATH that fresh and springing bower, Of one who, at this silent hour, Had thither stol'n to die alone. One who in life, where'er he moved, Which shines so cool before his eyes. Is still like distant music heard ;- Deserted youth! one thought alone Shed joy around his soul in death,— That she, whom he for years had known, And loved, and might have call'd his own, Was safe from this foul midnight's breath, Safe in her father's princely halls, Where the cool airs from fountain falls, Freshly perfumed by many a brand Of the sweet wood from India's land, Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. But see who yonder comes by stealth, His livid cheek to hers she presses, Ah! once, how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace, Those gentle arms, that were to him Holy as is the cradling place Of Eden's infant cherubim! And now he yields—now turns away, Never until that instant came Near his unask'd or without shame. "Oh! let me only breathe the air, The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee, And, whether on its wings it bear Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There-drink my tears, while yet they fallWould that my bosom's blood were balm, And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, To give thy brow one minute's calm. Nay, turn not from me that dear face Am I not thine-thy own loved brideThe one, the chosen one, whose place In life or death is by thy side? Think'st thou that she, whose only light, In this dim world, from thee hath shone, Could bear the long, the cheerless night, That must be hers when thou art gone? That I can live, and let thee go, Who art my life itself?—No, no— When the stem dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart must perish too! Then turn to me, my own love, turn, Before, like thee, I fade and burn; Cling to these yet cool lips, and share The last pure life that lingers there!" She fails-she sinks-as dies the lamp In charnel airs, or cavern-damp, So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. One struggle and his pain is pastHer lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last, Long kiss, which she expires in giving! |