 | Redwald |  |
Three days her fate would now decide,
And Edith would become a bride;
Her heart a tender joy maintain'd,
Yet there a silent sadness reign'd,
She knew not why—and solitude
Was suited to indulge the mood.
How often in the happiest hour
Does sadness spread her chilling pow'r!—
The nearer bliss the heart attains
The more 'tis sensible of pains.
And Edith climb'd the mountain's side,
From whence was seen a landscape wide;
Beneath was heard the billows' sound,
And Man's fair plains extended round,
The evening mist—its deep'ning shade
Shed o'er each cottage, hill, and glade,
And shrouded with its dark grey hue
The coast of Erin from the view.
The more than melancholy gloom
Was like the silence of the tomb;—
She thought on Mable's early fate,
And on her own so happy state:
“Alas!” she said, “had'st thou, my friend,
“Remain'd thy tender care to lend,
“My present joy could'st thou have seen,
“How much more blest my heart had been!”
And Edith would become a bride;
Her heart a tender joy maintain'd,
Yet there a silent sadness reign'd,
She knew not why—and solitude
Was suited to indulge the mood.
How often in the happiest hour
Does sadness spread her chilling pow'r!—
The nearer bliss the heart attains
The more 'tis sensible of pains.
And Edith climb'd the mountain's side,
From whence was seen a landscape wide;
Beneath was heard the billows' sound,
And Man's fair plains extended round,
25
Shed o'er each cottage, hill, and glade,
And shrouded with its dark grey hue
The coast of Erin from the view.
The more than melancholy gloom
Was like the silence of the tomb;—
She thought on Mable's early fate,
And on her own so happy state:
“Alas!” she said, “had'st thou, my friend,
“Remain'd thy tender care to lend,
“My present joy could'st thou have seen,
“How much more blest my heart had been!”
| Redwald | |