And while yet in anguish gazing, and my weeping eyes upraising,
To the shadowy, silent seraph, semblance of my Isabel,
Slow she faded, till there stood there, once again the white gazelle,
Faintly whispering, “Fare thee well!”
C.
Evening Mirror, New York, April 29, 1845.
The Whippoorwill.
* * * * *
In the wilderness benighted, lo! at last my guide alighted