 | Lays for the Dead |  |
103
PORTRAIT THE FIFTH.
Now I to thee awake the votive lay,To thee, bright curls just parting on thy brow,
With eyes of tenderness, with lips that seem
About to utter playful wit, or pour
A strain of mild persuasion on the ear.
Thou, my gay childhood's darling, and my youth's
Belov'd companion! thou hast left me too—
And I had hop'd along the vale of years
To walk with thee, and live beside thy home!
But thou art gone before me! and thy grave
Is on the distant shore of Malabar.
Thou sleep'st by one who fondly lov'd us both,
And whose dear image is so twin'd with thine,
That, as I gaze on thee, he, too, appears
Radiant in smiles, and on my darken'd path
A rainbow lustre casts, which, rainbow like,
104
In the dark vale that leads me to the grave.
But He, the widow's husband, orphan's sire,
Friend of the friendless—the unchanging God!
He lives to make the desolate rejoice;
And as I turn from thee to kneel to him,
Full seems that prostrate heart, so lately void,
And while with firmer touch I strike the lyre,
The chords resound with thankfulness and love.
| Lays for the Dead | |