* * *
In the churchyard of that city
Rose a tomb of marble rare,
Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,
With her buds and blossoms fair—
And a humble grave beside it—
No one knew who rested there.
VERSE: ECHOES
Still the angel stars are shining,
Still the rippling waters flow,
But the angel-voice is silent
That I heard so long ago.
Hark! the echoes murmur low,
Long ago!
Still the wood is dim and lonely,
Still the plashing fountains play,
But the past and all its beauty,
Whither has it fled away?
Hark! the mournful echoes say,
Fled away!
Still the bird of night complaineth,
(Now, indeed, her song is pain,)
Visions of my happy hours,
Do I call and call in vain?
Hark! the echoes cry again,
All in vain!
Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes!
Once I loved your voices well;
Now my heart is sick and weary—
Days of old, a long farewell!
Hark! the echoes sad and dreary
Cry farewell, farewell!
VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS
I see a Spirit by thy side,
Purple-winged and eagle-eyed,
Looking like a Heavenly guide.
Though he seem so bright and fair,
Ere thou trust his proffered care,
Pause a little, and beware!