THE TRYST.
I
I went, alone, to the old familiar place
Where we often met,—
When the twilight soften'd thy bright and radiant face
And the sun had set.
All things around seem'd whispering of the past,
With thine image blent—
Even the changeful spray which the torrent cast
As it downward went!
I stood and gazed with a sad and heavy eye
On the waterfall—
And with a shouting voice of agony
On thy name did call!
II
With a yearning hope, from my wrung and aching heart
I call'd on thee—
And the lonely echoes from the rocks above
They answer'd me!
Glad and familiar as a household word
Was that cherish'd name—
But in that grieving hour, faintly heard,
'T was not the same!
Solemn and sad, with a distant knelling cry,
On my heart it fell—
'T was as if the word “Welcome” had been answer'd by
The word “Farewell!”
