Rutha.
The days are long and lonely,
The weary eve comes on,
And the nights are filled with dreaming
Of one beloved and gone.
I reach out in the darkness
And clasp but empty air,
For Rutha dear has vanished—
I wonder, wonder where.
Yet must it be: her nature
So lovely, pure, and true;
So nearly like the angels,
Is she an angel too.
The cottage is dismantled
Of all that made it bright;
Beyond its silent portal
No love, nor life, nor light.
Where are the hopes I cherished,
The joys that once I knew,
The dreams, the aspirations?
All, all are perished too.
Yes, love's dear chain is broken;
From shore to shore I roam—
No comfort, no companion,
No happiness, no home.
Oh could I but enfold her
Unto my heart once more,
If aught could e'er restore me
My darling as before;