 | East and west : the discovery of America and other poems |  |
98
AT HER TOMB.
The forests hang sober,
The winds mutter dread.
They speak to my heart,
But my heart it is dead.
Like breath of a spirit
They sigh through the trees,
But my sorrow is deaf
To the grief of the breeze.
The winds mutter dread.
They speak to my heart,
But my heart it is dead.
Like breath of a spirit
They sigh through the trees,
But my sorrow is deaf
To the grief of the breeze.
Far off in the woodland
Is dug a new grave.
My soul is there buried;
No saviour to save!
There violets murmur
A fragrant farewell;
And the cricket's low chanting
Resounds through the dell.
Is dug a new grave.
My soul is there buried;
No saviour to save!
There violets murmur
A fragrant farewell;
And the cricket's low chanting
Resounds through the dell.
I lie on my bosom,
And sob to their sound;
My cheek in the grass,
And my lips to the ground.
O hearts may be broken,
And bitter tears come;
But the dead cannot hear thee.
They sleep and are dumb.
And sob to their sound;
My cheek in the grass,
And my lips to the ground.
99
And bitter tears come;
But the dead cannot hear thee.
They sleep and are dumb.
Hang out thy red lantern
O star in the East,
That the morning may break
And my soul be released!
But the mist only hangs
Thicker yet on the night;
And I hear a low sob
As it stifles thy light.
O star in the East,
That the morning may break
And my soul be released!
But the mist only hangs
Thicker yet on the night;
And I hear a low sob
As it stifles thy light.
Is it winds that I fancy
Are lisping my name?
On the cross at her head
Seems to burn a pale flame.
And a horror has seized me,
A fear and a thrill,
That the souls of the buried
Are nigh to us still.
Are lisping my name?
On the cross at her head
Seems to burn a pale flame.
And a horror has seized me,
A fear and a thrill,
That the souls of the buried
Are nigh to us still.
Ah no, hollow chamber!
Farewell, thou dear gleam!
'T was a fancy deranged
By the lull of a dream.
But I call thee, and shudder,
I writhe, and I moan
That thy spirit should vanish
And leave me alone.
Farewell, thou dear gleam!
'T was a fancy deranged
By the lull of a dream.
But I call thee, and shudder,
I writhe, and I moan
That thy spirit should vanish
And leave me alone.
| East and west : the discovery of America and other poems | |