 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
22
DROWNED.
Pale and drooping as a bruiséd lily
Lies he 'mid the river-grasses chilly,
Like a fragile zephyr-wafted blossom
Rocked to rest upon the river's bosom.
Lies he 'mid the river-grasses chilly,
Like a fragile zephyr-wafted blossom
Rocked to rest upon the river's bosom.
Raise him gently from the tangled rushes;
No soft life-glow now his pale face flushes,
And his lip's warm hue is quenched forever,
By the envious kisses of the river.
No soft life-glow now his pale face flushes,
And his lip's warm hue is quenched forever,
By the envious kisses of the river.
Part the wet curls from his marble forehead,
Which so soon death's icy chill hath borrowed,—
Let the little hands, so smoothly moulded,
Softly on the quiet breast be folded.
Which so soon death's icy chill hath borrowed,—
Let the little hands, so smoothly moulded,
Softly on the quiet breast be folded.
Press the waxen lids serenely over
The blue orbs they seem so loth to cover,—
Lay around the fair face, cold and pearly,
Fragile buds, and blooms that perish early.
The blue orbs they seem so loth to cover,—
Lay around the fair face, cold and pearly,
Fragile buds, and blooms that perish early.
23
Let no tear-drops on your lashes glisten,—
With faith's steady strength look up and listen;—
Hear ye not the songs of the immortals
Welcoming his soul to glory's portals?
With faith's steady strength look up and listen;—
Hear ye not the songs of the immortals
Welcoming his soul to glory's portals?
With soft steps and hearts subdued and lowly,
Leave him to his slumbers pure and holy,
Weep not over heart-strings crushed and riven,
Mourn not for a soul flown home to heaven!
Leave him to his slumbers pure and holy,
Weep not over heart-strings crushed and riven,
Mourn not for a soul flown home to heaven!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |