Methought, I saw the phantom stand
Beside the peaceful wave;
I felt the pressure of her hand—
—Then look'd towards her grave.
Fair, fair beneath the evening sky
The quiet churchyard lay:
The tall pine-grove most solemnly
Hung mute above her clay.
Dearly she loved their arching spread,
Their music wild and sweet,
And, as she wished on her death-bed,
Was buried at their feet.
Around her grave a beauteous fence
Of wild flowers shed their breath,
Smiling like infant innocence
Within the gloom of death.
Such flowers from bank of mountain-brook
At eve we wont to bring,
When every little mossy nook
Betray'd returning Spring.
Oft had I fixed the simple wreath
Upon her virgin breast;
But now such flowers as form'd it, breathe
Around her bed of rest.
Yet all within my silent soul,
As the hush'd air was calm;
The natural tears that slowly stole,
Assuaged my grief like balm.
The air that seem'd so thick and dull
For months unto my eye;
Ah me! how bright and beautiful
It floated on the sky!
A trance of high and solemn bliss
From purest ether came;
'Mid such a heavenly scene as this,
Death is an empty name!
The memory of the past return'd
Like music to my heart,—
It seem'd that causelessly I mourn'd,
When we were told to part.