IN MEMORIAM.
I.
Our days of happiness Time hurries by,
As though in haste his envy found relief;
But in our nights of anguish his cold eye
Lingers upon us, gloating o’er our grief,—
Yet in the past we fain would live again,
Forgetting, for the gladness, all the pain.
II.
So pass our years. It seems a little while
Since, with wild throbbings in my boyish heart,
I westward gazed from my own western isle,
And saw the white-winged messengers depart.
Ah! little thought I then that o’er the sea
Lived any one that should be dear to me.
III.
Years fled—and other eyes were westward turned,
And I was on the bosom of the deep,
While strange emotions in my bosom burned—
A sorrow that I thought would never sleep:
For all that I had loved on earth was gone,—
Perhaps forever—and—I was alone;