She ceases, and her tears flow fast—
O! can this fit of softness last,
Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share
The sickly triumph of despair?
Upon the harp her head is thrown,
All round is like a vision flown;
And o'er a billowy surge her mind
Views lost delight left far behind.
THE LAY OF MARIE.
CANTO SECOND.
Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er,
Lamented that they heard no more;
While Brehan, from her broken lay,
Portended what she yet might say.
As the untarrying minutes flew,
More anxious and alarm'd he grew.
At length he spake:—"We wait too long
The remnant of this wilder'd song!
And too tenaciously we press
Upon the languor of distress!
'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd,
And in some noiseless chamber laid,
Attentive care, and soothing rest,
Appeas'd the anguish of her breast."
Low was his voice, but Marie heard:
He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd.
She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs,
Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes;
And, ere they dried upon her cheek,
Before she gather'd force to speak,
Convulsively her fingers play'd,
While his proud heart the prelude met,
Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd,
A loud, high measure, like a threat;
Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell
Which love and sorrow know so well.
"How solemn is the sick man's room
To friends or kindred lingering near!
Poring on that uncertain gloom
In silent heaviness and fear!
"How sad, his feeble hand in thine,
The start of every pulse to share!
With painful haste each wish divine,
Yet fed the hopelessness of care!
"To turn aside the full-fraught eye,
Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear!
To bear the weight of every sigh,
Lest it should reach that wakeful ear!
"In the dread stillness of the night,
To lose the faint, faint sound of breath!
To listen in restrain'd affright,
To deprecate each thought of death!
"And, when a movement chas'd that fear,
And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,
In thrilling awe the prayer to hear
Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low!