And seemingly ask, in anxious desire,
If ’tis the voice of Spring, if Winter’s no more;
All longing the time when howling blasts go,
To crown her their queen from shore unto shore;
To spread a rich carpet, by nature entwinéd,
Pave all her pathways with richest of gems;
To stud it with beauty in grandest profusion,
With roses and daisies on stalks and on stems.
Then welcome right gladly, then welcome, sweet Spring!
Let all be united, let every one sing;
Blended in a lyric let every voice be,
Your fairest of praises and sweetest notes bring.
THE BEREAVEMENT.
Written for S. L.
Beside a bed of sickness sat
A maiden young and fair,
Torn from the scenes of youth and joy,
Her loved one was laid there.
She watched with an unceasing care
From morning until night,
Nor left him in the stilly hours
Before the morning light.
She marked each feebly passing breath
And every burdened sigh;
Nor grew she weary of the task;
No sleep came to her nigh.
She kissed his cheek, his pillow smoothed,
His burning brow she bathed;
And with a balmy fillet oft
His aching temples swathed.
Into the future deep and long
Her brooding thoughts would pry;
She could not think that he must soon—
That he must truly die.
And yet she saw the ruddy hue
Pass from his cheek away,
And that the lustre of his eye
Grew fainter every day.