And its flight away o’er the mists of earth,
Oh! fitly thy path is through flowers that rise
Round the dark chamber where Genius lies!
[400] See the “Grave of a Poetess,” p. 411, on the same subject, and written several years previously to visiting the scene.
EPITAPH.
Farewell, beloved and mourn’d! We miss awhile
Thy tender gentleness of voice and smile,
And that bless’d gift of heaven, to cheer us lent—
That thrilling touch, divinely eloquent,
Which breathed the soul of prayer, deep, fervent, high,