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138
THE REPENTANT.
They led me slowly to the room
Where, in her virgin shroud,
Pale as a flow'ret, whose sweet bloom,
The first rude storm hath bow'd,
My lov'd, my lost, my Helen, slept:
Oh! hard is love's brief lot;—
I gaz'd upon her face—and wept,
But, oh! she saw me not!
Where, in her virgin shroud,
Pale as a flow'ret, whose sweet bloom,
The first rude storm hath bow'd,
My lov'd, my lost, my Helen, slept:
Oh! hard is love's brief lot;—
I gaz'd upon her face—and wept,
But, oh! she saw me not!
I thought of many a past offence,
Of many a vain delay,
Of coldness and indifference
I'd shown her, day by day;
And I look'd on that faded flower
Within that shrouded spot,
And deep remorse was in that hour—
But, oh! she knew it not!
Of many a vain delay,
Of coldness and indifference
I'd shown her, day by day;
And I look'd on that faded flower
Within that shrouded spot,
And deep remorse was in that hour—
But, oh! she knew it not!
139
I thought how oft her breast was wrung,
When mine was calm and chill;
And now my own was sear'd and stung—
And her poor heart was still!
Oh! would, I cried, the Past could live,
That I might change thy lot;—
Would I might kneel, and say “forgive,”
But, oh! she heard me not!
When mine was calm and chill;
And now my own was sear'd and stung—
And her poor heart was still!
Oh! would, I cried, the Past could live,
That I might change thy lot;—
Would I might kneel, and say “forgive,”
But, oh! she heard me not!
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