 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
WILLIAM'S GRAVE.
The death-bell tolled, and it fell on my ear,
Like the knell of departed bliss,
As I gazed in despair on William's bier,
With eyes that were burning without a tear,
To soften a pang like this.
Like the knell of departed bliss,
As I gazed in despair on William's bier,
With eyes that were burning without a tear,
To soften a pang like this.
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For William was all that I valued below,
His bosom was honor's shrine,
His hand to the needy was prompt to bestow,
While he lighted up “smiles in the aspect of wo,”
And kindled new rapture in mine.
His bosom was honor's shrine,
His hand to the needy was prompt to bestow,
While he lighted up “smiles in the aspect of wo,”
And kindled new rapture in mine.
But death was relentless, and William bowed
To a sudden and early doom,
No longer the life of the listening crowd,
He lowly reclines in a coffin and shroud,
And sleeps in the narrow tomb.
To a sudden and early doom,
No longer the life of the listening crowd,
He lowly reclines in a coffin and shroud,
And sleeps in the narrow tomb.
They made him a bed in the cold, damp ground,
Where they laid my love to rest,
The sable-clad mourners stood silent around,
And sighed in response to the murmuring sound
Of the clods, as they fell on his breast.
Where they laid my love to rest,
The sable-clad mourners stood silent around,
And sighed in response to the murmuring sound
Of the clods, as they fell on his breast.
My heart was so full that I could not weep,
With spasms I drew my breath,
My sobs were so low, and convulsively deep,
That I hoped soon to share in my William's sleep,
In the chilly embrace of death.
With spasms I drew my breath,
My sobs were so low, and convulsively deep,
That I hoped soon to share in my William's sleep,
In the chilly embrace of death.
From these widowed arms, my love was torn,
When hope was revelling bright,
And his spirit has passed the eternal bourne,
While hapless Maria is left to mourn,
Through sorrow's starless night.
When hope was revelling bright,
And his spirit has passed the eternal bourne,
While hapless Maria is left to mourn,
Through sorrow's starless night.
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But morning will dawn, and I shall rise,
When life's brittle cord shall sever;
In regions far brighter I'll open my eyes,
And meet my dear William above the skies,
To part no more for ever.
When life's brittle cord shall sever;
In regions far brighter I'll open my eyes,
And meet my dear William above the skies,
To part no more for ever.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |