Oh! ne'er in vaulted chambers lay My lifeless form; Seek not of such mean, worthless prey To cheat the worm.
In this sweet city of the dead I fain would sleep, Where flowers may deck my narrow bed, And night dews weep.
But raise not the sepulchral stone To mark the spot; Enough, if by thy heart alone 'Tis ne'er forgot.
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
BY LUCRETIA M. DAVIDSON
I'm thy guardian angel, sweet maid! and I rest In mine own chosen temple, thy innocent breast; At midnight I steal from my sacred retreat, When the chords of thy heart in soft unison beat.
When thy bright eye is closed, when thy dark tresses flow In beautiful wreaths o'er thy pillow of snow; O then I watch o'er thee, all pure as thou art, And listen to music which steals from thy heart.
Thy smile is the sunshine which gladdens my soul, My tempest the clouds, which around thee may roll; I feast my light form on thy rapture-breathed sighs, And drink at the fount of those beautiful eyes.
The thoughts of thy heart are recorded by me; There are some which, half-breathed, half-acknowledged by thee, Steal sweetly and silently o'er thy pure breast, Just ruffling its calmness, then murm'ring to rest.