Is quench'd--but the smile on thy pale lip that lies,
Now tells of a joy that no language can speak.
The fountain is seal'd, the young spirit at rest,--
Oh, why should I mourn thee, my lov'd one--my blest!"
The anniversary of that fatal day gave birth to the following lines, with which I will close this long chapter:--
The Early Lost.
"The shade of death upon my threshold lay,
The sun from thy life's dial had departed;
A cloud came down upon thy early day,
And left thy hapless mother broken-hearted--