Judith, Esther, and other poems

Lone in the desert drear and deep,
Beneath the forest's whispering shade,
Where brambles twine and mosses creep,
The lovely Charlotte's grave is made.

But though no breathing marble there
Shall gleam in beauty through the gloom,
The turf that hides her golden hair
With sweetest desert-flowers shall bloom.

And while the moon her tender light
Upon the hallowed scene shall fling,
The mocking-bird shall sit all night
Among the dewy leaves and sing.

For never did our western ray
Salute a soul more free from stain,
More true—and years shall pass away
Ere it may warm the like again!

Ne'er did thine eye's deep azure seem—
Nor smile, nor speech, like those of earth,
Sweet blighted one, and well I deem
Thine was no mortal's usual birth—

But, when thy mother touched her lyre,
A form like thee was born of thought

Prolific grown by heavenly fire,
And Nature thence her model caught.

And well may those believe thee fair,
Who see that dark-eyed mother now,
And view despite of grief and care
The charm upon her lip and brow.

Sure Genius has a power to keep
Wrapt in a spell her children true,
And the sweet tears her daughters weep
Embalm the beauties they bedew!

But fare thee well!—the stranger's tear
Shall trickle to thy memory long!
And should thy gentle spirit hear
It may not scorn a stranger's song.

University of Virginia Library

On hearing the praises of Charlotte, the fair departed daughter of Philenia.