The map of our own paths, and long ere years
With their dull steps the brilliant lines efface,
On sweeps the storm, and blots them out with tears!
That home was darken’d soon: the summer breeze
Welcomed with death the wanderers from the seas:
Death unto one, and anguish—how forlorn!
To her that, widow’d in her marriage morn,
Sat in her voiceless dwelling, whence with him,
Her bosom’s first beloved, her friend and guide,
Joy had gone forth, and left the green earth dim,