BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.
And is this all remains of thee, Beloved in youth so well? Of all the charms that threw o'er me Affection's sweetest spell— The eye that beamed with light of mind, The heart so warm and so refined, This only left to tell? Yet well does it recall again The form beloved—alas! in vain.
Sad relic! but few months are fled Since thou didst grace the brow Of her, who in death's marble bed Is coldly sleeping now! And when I leave my native home O'er ocean's pathless waste to roam, With many a whispered vow Did she this raven tress confer, And called thee, Love's Remembrancer.
I placed thee next my throbbing heart, Where soon I hoped to fold The maid of whom alone thou art All I can e'er behold! And often, on the moonlight sea, I've stolen a glance of love at thee, While pleasure's tear-drop rolled To think I should soon cross the main, And meet my love—no, ne'er again!
At last our bark return'd once more O'er ocean's heaving breast; And lightly on my native shore My thrilling footsteps pressed: With breathless haste I sought the form That, day and night, through calm and storm, Had been my bosom's guest— I sought—but ah! the grave had closed Above that form, in death reposed!
Dear gift! when now thou meet'st my gaze, What burning thoughts arise! O, how the soul of other days Comes gushing from mine eyes! I do not weep o'er pleasures fled; Nor mourn I that the loved one's dead: But when remembrance flies Back o'er the scenes of early years, In vain would I suppress my tears!
I weep—yet scarce know why I weep— For I would not recall That being from her dreamless sleep— I would not lift the pall That shrouds her cold and pulseless breast— No! if a word could break her rest, And give back life, love, all That once made life so bright, so dear, I could not—could not—wish her here!
Now let the tempest pour its wrath On my devoted head! The clouds that lower upon my path Cannot disturb the dead: And oh! 'tis something still to know, Howe'er mine eyes with anguish flow, No tears can e'er be shed By her, who, snatched in loveliest bloom, Lies mouldering in an early tomb.
Life's burden I have learned to bear, But I would bear alone, Nor have one other heart to share The pangs that rend my own! Yes, yes, loved pledge! where now nay view Is fixed upon the raven hue, It softens sorrow's moan To know—whate'er 'tis mine to brave— Affliction cannot pierce the grave!