XI.
Moments there are when Reason's control,
Yieldeth to Fancy in heart and soul;
When the spirit views with prescient eye,
The common light and shaded sky,
An omen finds in the falling leaf,
And symbols in all things of joy or grief.
And this was one, for on that failing strife
Had Morna cast her dearest hope in life.
Must she behold with power as vain to shield,
Earth's only blessing from her presence torn?
Was there a fiercer pang for her revealed
In that short conflict than she yet had known?
Her dark eyes grew more wildly bright,
And gleamed with an intenser light,
As closer drew the venomed fang,
And shrill the lone bird's accents rang.
But, hark! a shot—a rustling fall—
Approaching steps—a sportman's call—
The parent bird is in the dust;
And o'er the path that homeward led,
With fleeting step fair Morna fled,
And breathed a prayer of thanks and trust.
Though sweet to live, more blest to die,
For those that strong affections tie
Has fettered to the clinging heart,
With links not Death can wholly part.