E’en now, prophetic of my early doom,
Speaks to my soul a presage of the tomb;
And ne’er in vain did hopeless mourner feel
That deep foreboding o’er the bosom steal!
Soon shall I slumber calmly by the side
Of him for whom I lived, and would have died;
Till then, one thought shall soothe my orphan lot,
In pain and peril—I forsook him not.
“And now, farewell!—behold the summer-day
Is passing, like the dreams of life, away.