They'll hide her where no false one's footsteps, stealing,
Can mar the chasten'd meekness of her sleep;
Only to Love and Grief her grave revealing,
And they will hush their chiding then—to weep!
And some, (for though too oft she err'd, too blindly,
She was beloved—how fondly and how well!)—
Some few, with faltering feet, will linger kindly,
And plant dear flowers within that silent dell.
I know whose fragile hand will bring the bloom
Best loved by both—the violet's—to that bower;
And one will bid white lilies bless the gloom;
And one, perchance, will plant the passion flower;
Then do thou come, when all the rest have parted—
Thou, who alone dost know her soul's deep gloom!
And wreathe above the lost, the broken-hearted,
Some idle weed, that knew not how to bloom.
We pass from these painful but exquisitely beautiful displays of sensitive feeling and romantic fancy, to pieces exhibiting Mrs. Osgood's more habitual spirit of arch playfulness and graceful invention, scattered through the volume, and constituting a class of compositions in which she is scarcely approachable. The "Lover's List," is one of her shorter ballads:
"Come sit on this bank so shady,
Sweet Evelyn, sit with me!
And count me your loves, fair lady—
How many may they be?"
The maiden smiled on her lover,
And traced with her dimpled hand,
Of names a dozen and over
Down in the shining sand.
"And now," said Evelyn, rising,
"Sir Knight! your own, if you please;
And if there be no disguising,
The list will outnumber these;
"Then count me them truly, rover!"
And the noble knight obeyed;
And of names a dozen and over
He traced within the shade.
Fair Evelyn pouted proudly;
She sighed "Will he never have done?"
And at last she murmur'd loudly,
"I thought he would write but one!"