 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
77
THE POET'S GRAVE.
'Twas in a sunny forest-nook,
With flowers and moss o'ergrown;
Where nought was heard save the bee's low hum
Or wild wind's liquid tone—
They laid the gentle bard to rest
When life's wild dream was o'er,
When the lyre he woke with magic power
Gave forth its notes no more.
With flowers and moss o'ergrown;
Where nought was heard save the bee's low hum
Or wild wind's liquid tone—
They laid the gentle bard to rest
When life's wild dream was o'er,
When the lyre he woke with magic power
Gave forth its notes no more.
They laid him there when sunset's beam
Yet lingered on the hill,
But the heart that leaped at that bright hour
In death's long sleep was still;
Sadly they heaped the mossy mould
Above his fair young form,
And wept that soon the grave should hide
The heart so free and warm.
Yet lingered on the hill,
But the heart that leaped at that bright hour
In death's long sleep was still;
Sadly they heaped the mossy mould
Above his fair young form,
And wept that soon the grave should hide
The heart so free and warm.
78
The elm's long boughs droop o'er the turf
Like mourners weeping by,
And there, in spring, the violet first
Looks up with mild blue eye;
And when the forests in the garb
Of Summer, proudly wave,
A thousand low, sweet melodies
Float mournful round his grave.
Like mourners weeping by,
And there, in spring, the violet first
Looks up with mild blue eye;
And when the forests in the garb
Of Summer, proudly wave,
A thousand low, sweet melodies
Float mournful round his grave.
A holy calm breathes o'er the spot,
The trees dark shadows fling,
Save when through twining boughs, quick gleams
The wild bird's flashing wing.
There, when the sunset's glow decays,
Bright forms with sunny hair
Glide slowly through the forest aisles,
Then fade in twilight air.
The trees dark shadows fling,
Save when through twining boughs, quick gleams
The wild bird's flashing wing.
There, when the sunset's glow decays,
Bright forms with sunny hair
Glide slowly through the forest aisles,
Then fade in twilight air.
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |