 | Poems |  |
167
SONG X.
[Wave on, thou dark green aged thorn]
I
Wave on, thou dark green aged thorn,In solemn silence wave;
Beneath thy shade we meet no more;
My Mary's in her grave!
Come, Death, and bear me to her tomb,
Beside yon wood-crowned hill;
Wave on, thou dark green aged thorn,
I see thee, and turn chill.
168
II
Shine on, ye glittering blue-set stars,Ye bring to mind her eyes,
And oft have shone on her fair face,
When no moon climbed the skies:
And thee, thou lonely nightingale,
Oh, how thou makest me thrill,
Thou warbledst so when Mary lived,—
I hear thee, and turn chill.
III
Weep on, ye sweet bell-folded flowers,I love those tears ye shed;
It is not dew that gems your eyes,
O no! ye know she's dead.
Although ye sigh not deep, like me,
Ye silently instil
A lesson of sad, speechless grief—
I read it, and turn chill.
169
IV
And thee, thou well remember'd stile!'Twas here we used to part—
Our good-night kiss was always here;
But thou wilt break my heart.
I shiver 'neath the breath of night
That mourns so cold and shrill;
In Mary's grave alone there's rest—
I know it, and turn chill.
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