But stay—a vision in the flame appears:
With flowers a village churchyard path is strewn,
A youth and maiden hale and young in years
Are wedded 'midst the blossomings of June.
Alas! it scarcely seems but yesterday—
For I was that glad youth; and by my side
There stood, from head to foot in white array,
Her face adorned with smiles, my loving bride.
The flames burn low; there comes a change of sight.
I stand, as once I stood, with bated breath
And anxious mind, throughout the lengthened night,
To watch an awful strife 'twixt life and death.
At length the morning broke—outside 'twas gay,
But inside, sad; my wife had sweetly smiled,
And falling back had calmly passed away,
And I was left with Fan, my only child.
There courses down my cheek the usual tear—
I'll brush it back, and find a brighter theme;
See, flames are burning up with ruddy cheer,
And I can now discern a sunnier gleam;
Aye, aye! and 'tis a brighter theme to think
How Fan grew up and was beloved by all,
How never from a duty would she shrink,
Nor scruple to respond to ev'ry call.
Oft would she pluck and save the fairest bloom,
Or gather bunches of the rarest flow'rs,
And decorate a lonely cottage room
To brighten up a widow's dreary hours.
Her form was seen beside the sick man's bed,
To whom she read, and laboured to inspire:
And sanctity was in her as she led
On Sunday morn the simple village choir.
But tears course down, the fire again burns low;
The brighter th' sun, the darker follows shade,
Sweet years flew on—then heaven why was it so?—
I see the open grave where Fan was laid.
* * * * *
This life is sorrow-burdened: yet if bright
And framed of worldly bliss without alloy,
We should not see the worth of true delight,
Nor strive to gain an everlasting joy!