I feel the cold night's gathering gloom
Infect my throbbing breast;
It tells me that the friendly tomb
Alone can give me rest.
I then shall sleep the sleep serene,
Where she so long has slept;
Nor be the wretch I long have been,
Nor weep as I have wept."
THE CHURCHYARD.
"Here, then, my weary head shall rest,
Here weep and sigh alone;
And press the marble to my breast,
And kiss the senseless stone.
I'm calmer now—a silv'ry sound
Is whisp'ring in my ear;
That tells me this is sacred ground,
And she is hov'ring near.
Celestial stillness reigns around,
Serenely beats my breast;
Maria's spirit treads this ground,
And hushes me to rest.
I see Maria hov'ring there—
She waves her wings of light;
Angelic music fills the air,
And charms the ear of night.
Stay, lovely maiden, longer stay,
And bless thy lover's eyes;
And do not soar so fast away
To seek thy native skies.
'Tis gone—the lovely vision's gone!
And night's dim shades prevail;
Again, I feel myself alone,
And pour my fruitless wail.
I seem like one who madly raves
Among the silent dead;
And start to hear the hollow graves
Re-echo to my tread.