 | Poems by Mrs. Opie |  |
96
A MAD-SONG.
Ha! what is this that on my brow
Presses with such o'erwhelming power?
My love to heaven is gone, I know;
But 'tis to fix our bridal hour:....
Then on his tomb why should I sorrow?
He's gone, but he'll return tomorrow.
Presses with such o'erwhelming power?
My love to heaven is gone, I know;
But 'tis to fix our bridal hour:....
Then on his tomb why should I sorrow?
He's gone, but he'll return tomorrow.
97
Ah! then yon lofty hill I'll mount,
And seize on morning's brightest cloud;
On that I'll wait my love, and count
The moments till he leaves his shroud:
And he the rainbow's vest shall borrow,
To grace our bridal day tomorrow.
And seize on morning's brightest cloud;
On that I'll wait my love, and count
The moments till he leaves his shroud:
And he the rainbow's vest shall borrow,
To grace our bridal day tomorrow.
But all's not right in this poor heart,....
Yet why should I his loss deplore?
It was indeed a pang to part,
But when he comes, he'll rove no more:
And all today can laugh at sorrow,
When sure of being blest tomorrow.
Yet why should I his loss deplore?
It was indeed a pang to part,
But when he comes, he'll rove no more:
And all today can laugh at sorrow,
When sure of being blest tomorrow.
98
Then why am I in black arrayed?
And why is Henry's father pale?
And why do I, poor frantic maid,
Tell to the winds a mournful tale?
Alas! the weight I feel is sorrow....
No, no....he cannot come tomorrow.
And why is Henry's father pale?
And why do I, poor frantic maid,
Tell to the winds a mournful tale?
Alas! the weight I feel is sorrow....
No, no....he cannot come tomorrow.
| Poems by Mrs. Opie | |