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To the depths of the woods, where the shadows rest,
Give way the booming surge, the tempest's roar,
The gentle girl, that bow'd her fair young head,
When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying. Brother, true friend! the tender and the brave
She pin’d to share thy grave.
Fame was thy gift from others—but for her,
To whom the wide world held that only spot She lov'd thee-lovely in your lives ye were,
And in your early deaths divided not. Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy—what hath she?
-Her own blest place by thee !
It was thy spirit, brother ! which had made
The bright world glorious to her thoughtful eye, Since first in childhood ’midst the vines ye play'd,
And sent glad singing through the free blue sky. Ye were but two—and when that spirit pass’d,
Woe to the one, the last !
Woe, yet not long—she linger'd but to trace
Thine image from the image in her breast, Once, once again to see that buried face
But smile upon her, ere she went to rest. Too sad a smile ! its living light was o'er
It answer'd hers no more.
The earth grew silent when thy voice departed,
The home too lonely whence thy step had fledWhat then was left for her, the faithful-hearted ?
Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead. Softly she perish’d—be the Flower deplor'd,
Here with the Lyre and Sword.
Have ye not met ere now ?—so let those trust
years, That weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dust,
That love, where love is but a fount of tears. Brother, sweet sister! peace around ye dwell —
Lyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell !
THE LAST WISH.
Go to the forest shade,
Seek thou the well-known glade Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie;
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,
Like dark eyes fill?d with sleep,
Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed
For I, in sooth, depart
With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.
Fain would I stay with thee
Alas! this must not be ;
Go where the fountain's breast
Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. I know how softly bright,
Steep'd in that tender light,
Go to the pure stream's edge,
And from its whispering sedge Bring me those flowers, to cool my fever'd brow.
Then, as in hope's young days,
Track thou the antique maze
There is a lone white rose,
Shedding, in sudden snows,
Well know'st thou that fair tree !
-A murmur of the bee
Bring me one pearly flower,
Of all its clustering shower-
Gather one woodbine bough,
Then, from the lattice low Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark,