And softly through the forest bars
Light, lovely shapes, on glossy plumes,
Float ever in, like winged stars,
Amid the purpling glooms.
Their sweet songs, borne from tree to tree,
Thrill the light leaves with melody.
Alas! too deep a weight of thought
Had filled thy heart in youth's sweet hour;
It seemed with love and bliss o'erfraught;
As fleeting passion-flower
Unfolding 'neath a southern sky,
To blossom soon, and soon to die.
Alas! the very path I trace,
In happier hours thy footsteps made;
This spot was once thy resting place,
Within the silent shade.
Thy white hand trained the fragrant bough
That drops its blossoms o'er me now.
* * * * *
Yet in those calm and blooming bowers
I seem to feel thy presence still,
Thy breath seems floating o'er the flowers,
Thy whisper on the hill;
The clear, faint starlight, and the sea,
Are whispering to my heart of thee.
No more thy smiles my heart rejoice,
Yet still I start to meet thy eye,
And call upon the low, sweet voice,
That gives me no reply—
And list within my silent door
For the light feet that come no more.
* * * * *
=Rebecca S. Nichols,= about =1820-.= (Manual, pp. 503, 524.)
From "Musings."
=403.=