 | Poems by George P. Morris |  |
321
[This gloomy cell is my abode at last ]
DUET—SOPHIA AND COUNT.
SOPHIA.This gloomy cell is my abode at last;
The sole reward for all my perils past.
T is strange that love within the breast should dwell,
When hope, dejected, bids the heart farewell!
322
What sounds are these? No human form is near,
And yet that well-known voice I faintly hear,
'T was sure the fancied music of the mind,
Whose breathings mingled with the midnight wind.
BOTH.
Yes!—'T is lost!—'T is gone!—Hark! it comes again,
Like distant echoes of a melting strain:
In melody her/his spirit floats around!—
That voice!—These walls are vocal with the sound.
I hear its music near me still!—'T is there!
Sure 't is some gentle spirit of the air!
| Poems by George P. Morris | |