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THE PORTRAIT.
Those calm and sorrowful eyes!
What mournful meaning lies
Within their silent depths, O broken-hearted!
Some cold and cruel care
Still seems to linger there—
Some trace of grief and anguish long departed.
What mournful meaning lies
Within their silent depths, O broken-hearted!
Some cold and cruel care
Still seems to linger there—
Some trace of grief and anguish long departed.
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Of tears unseen they tell,
Of trials brooked full well,
A spirit that might break, yet could not bend—
Of silent suffering borne
'Mid unrequited scorn—
And wrongs endured in patience to the end.
Of trials brooked full well,
A spirit that might break, yet could not bend—
Of silent suffering borne
'Mid unrequited scorn—
And wrongs endured in patience to the end.
Oft at the silent hour,
When the Unseen hath power,
And forms of other worlds seem hovering near us—
When flickering shades that fall
Upon the darkened wall,
Advance, and then retreat as though they fear us—
When the Unseen hath power,
And forms of other worlds seem hovering near us—
When flickering shades that fall
Upon the darkened wall,
Advance, and then retreat as though they fear us—
When, even as now, I seem
Half in the Land of Dream,
Its mournful dwellers dimly gliding round—
Methinks I can, almost,
Discern thy hapless ghost,
And hear its timid footstep press the ground.
Half in the Land of Dream,
Its mournful dwellers dimly gliding round—
Methinks I can, almost,
Discern thy hapless ghost,
And hear its timid footstep press the ground.
And thou, poor spirit, thou
Perchance art near me now,
And seekest, not in vain, some human kindness.
Oh, if thou read'st my thought,
Canst thou discover aught
Save love for thee—pity for mortal blindness?
Perchance art near me now,
And seekest, not in vain, some human kindness.
Oh, if thou read'st my thought,
Canst thou discover aught
Save love for thee—pity for mortal blindness?
May'st thou be far from here,
And in some happier sphere
Have long forgotten all thy gloomy part;
The love, the gentle mirth,
Thou never knew'st on earth,
Have fallen like sunshine on that wearied heart.
And in some happier sphere
Have long forgotten all thy gloomy part;
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Thou never knew'st on earth,
Have fallen like sunshine on that wearied heart.
Oh Love! what lovest thou?
The wan and careworn brow—
The faded cheek—the dark, despairing mind?
Oh! these are not of Thee,
Yet such would seem to be
The traces thy sweet footsteps leave behind.
The wan and careworn brow—
The faded cheek—the dark, despairing mind?
Oh! these are not of Thee,
Yet such would seem to be
The traces thy sweet footsteps leave behind.
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