But here she turned, calm in her death despair,
And in a voice that trembled with its hate,
"My dying curse be on you everywhere,
False love," she cried, "who send me to my fate."
There was a silence, then a fusilade
Of musketry, a woman's scream and moan,
Then silence. That was all, and in the shade
Of night the hero laughed. Reason had flown.
A CHILD'S KISS.
Sweet is the maiden's kiss that tells
The secret of her heart;
Holy the wife's—yet in them dwells
Of earthliness a part;
While in a little child's warm kiss
Is naught but heaven above,
So sweet it is, so pure it is,
So full of faith and love.
'Tis like a violet in May
That knows nor fear nor harm,
But cheers the wanderer on his way
With its unconscious charm.
'Tis like a bird that carols free,
And thinks not of reward,
But gives the world its melody
Because it is a bard.
THE GRAVE AND THE TREE.
Of double depth they made her grave,
And covered it with massive stone,
And there, where silvery birches wave,
They left her sleeping all alone.
These words were chiselled on her tomb:
"This grave, bought for eternity,
Even to and through the day of doom,
And ever, shall unopened be."