University of Virginia Library

It was the place of tombs; the dark-leaved yew
And bending willow their sad shadows threw
Across the lowly graves; no sound was heard
Save the soft murmur of a rippling stream,
Or the light carol of the lark that stirred
The balmy air with music: it might seem
That all things slept in some delicious dream.
There was a hillock decked with many a wreath
Of young spring-flowers, but they had faded 'neath
The morning sun, like young hopes pure and bright
Withering beneath the look that gave them light.
And to that grave there came the form of one
Who had been beautiful; but sickness now,
And sorrow, too, had marked her for their own,
And stolen the joyous beauty from her brow.
On the damp grass she many a night had lain,
The star-gemmed heavens her only canopy;
And this had dimmed the lustre of her eye,
And faded her young cheek; she came again
To deck with fresh culled flowers the lonely spot
She loved so well. She sighed: “Sure these are not
The flowers I braided; ah! the cruel sun
Has touched them, and their loveliness is gone.”
She threw herself beside the grave and wreathed
The dewy flowers, while mournfully she breathed
A low and broken melody:—

[OMITTED] She laid
Upon the verdant flower-wreathed turf her head;
The breeze amid her long, dark ringlets played,
And thus she slept—the dying with the dead.

Hers was no wondrous history; should we seek
The cause that fades the bloom of woman's cheek,
'Twould oft be found a tale like this,—she loved
As woman ever loves—undoubtingly;
His rich-toned voice o'er her young pulses moved
Like the soft breath of summer airs that sigh
Upon the wind-god's harp; his glorious eye
To her was as the sunbeam from on high
Nursing the passion-flowers within her heart,
And teaching them their fragrance to impart.
He knew not all her love; she taught the deep
And strong emotions of her breast to sleep
Beneath mirth's semblance, and whene'er she heard
His footstep, though her feelings wildly stirred,
The trembling of her downcast lid, her cheek
Suffused with blushes—these alone could speak
Her woman's fondness. Ernold toyed awhile
With the fond heart whose every throb was fraught
With tenderness for him; and then the smile
Of one more fair claimed all the truant's thought.
Aye, thus man values woman's heart—a toy
That may amuse his changeful hours of joy,
Or charm his bosom's waywardness, then cast
Aside, or broken when the mood is past.

'Twere vain to tell of Mina's hopes and fears,
Her seeming gayety and secret tears;
Woman too oft is doomed such pangs to prove,
And man—why should he know of woman's love?
Too soon the loved, the faithless one was wed
To one so beautiful she seemed to make
A very heaven about her, and to take
Captive those hearts whence feeling long had fled;
Yet she was cold to him as is the snow
On mountain tops—she should have been as pure—
And silently he bade his heart endure
To see the same cold smiles upon her brow,
Like sunbeams glittering o'er a frozen lake.
At length came one with magic power to wake
The beautiful statue into life, and she
Who should have shared her husband's destiny,
Unchanged through every change, was faithless! gave
Her name, her honor to become the slave
Of sinful passion. From that fatal day
Grief wore the wretched Ernold's life away;
And when pain thus had wrung him, and decay
Had marked him for the grave, remembering nought
Save that he now was wretched, Mina sought
To soothe his misery; and oft she led
His trembling footsteps to the river side,
Upon whose green bank they were wont to tread
When life was brighter, and whene'er he tried
To banish sad remembrance, she would smile
And seek with cheerful words his grief to 'guile.
Death came at length; she lived to dress his tomb
With sweet spring flowers, but pain had stolen her bloom.
She knew that she was dying; one bright morn
She went again the green grave to adorn,
But she returned not—she had calmly laid
Her cheek upon the grassy mound, a braid
Of fresh buds in her hand, and thus beside
Her lover's tomb her latest breath was sighed.