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31
ELLEN,
Or First Love and Death.
That summer dawn, to Love and Edwin dear,Her sky-blue gown, her happy tears and smiles;
And the broad harvests, stirring far and near,
And softly floating to the gates and stiles;
The meadow sweet and wild rose dew-besprent,
And her pure words of troth, where are they now?
And the gay lark, that rose at once, and spent
His morning-music on her earliest vow?
He treads the sodden grass with weary foot
At twilight, weeping for his promised bride:
The wind blows cold; the corn has long been cut;
And, three moons since, his plighted Ellen died!
But lo! that glimmer in the watery rut!
It is a star—in Heaven, yet by his side.
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