Upon whose fickle bosom none can trace
The pathways of the dead unto their place
Of endless rest. From blighting storms of life,
From my own heart’s corroding fires and strife—
The flame that hath no sure relief but death,
I come to seek for peace, thy waves beneath.
Ope now thy breast, and hide forever there
My lifeless form—my fondness and despair!”
She said, then drew her robe around her close,
And calmly as reclining to repose