IX.
My bliss was o’er. I was again alone
Amid the scenes that I had learned to love
For her dear sake; but, ah! the charm was gone
From river-side and mountain-slope and grove—
All, save the memory of happy hours
That lingered like the sweetness of dead flowers.
X.
And as the ground on which a temple stood
Is holy, though the temple stand no more,
So river, mountain, waterfall and wood
Wore something of the sacredness they wore
When her loved presence blessed them, and her face
Made all around her smile with her sweet grace.
XI.
And I am still alone, and years have fled,
And other scenes are ’round me, as I call
The past by Memory’s magic from the dead,
As Endor’s Sibyl brought the Seer to Saul.
(May he not then have thought of that good time
When David’s music lulled his soul from crime?)
XII.
And I, with more of bitterness than bliss,
The summoned years of my past life review,
Till Hope’s red lips with love pale Sorrow’s kiss,
And all things good and beautiful and true,
Start rainbow-like from Sorrow’s falling tears,
Spanning with hues of Heaven all my years.