But hearts in other bosoms beat
Where anguish finds a lasting seat—
That heal not with the lapse of time—
Too delicately stung for earth,
Whose chords can never after chime
With peals of loud, unmeaning mirth.
Weeks flew: but Zillah in their flight
Strove oft, but vainly, to forget
The horrors of that fatal night,
When her beloved star, whose light