Craven Blossoms or, Poems chiefly connected with the district of Craven. By Robert Storey |
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| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
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| 1. |
| 2. |
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. |
 | Craven Blossoms |  |
73
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
“Once in thy mirth thou bad'st me write on thee;
“And now I write—what thou shalt never see!”
Rogers.
“And now I write—what thou shalt never see!”
Rogers.
Where, loved One! is thy dwelling now?
In scenes where thou wast wont to be,
Thy laughing eye, thine open brow,
Thy sylph-like form no more we see.
There's grief around thy Father's hearth,
Which time shall scarcely change to mirth!
In scenes where thou wast wont to be,
Thy laughing eye, thine open brow,
Thy sylph-like form no more we see.
There's grief around thy Father's hearth,
Which time shall scarcely change to mirth!
There's weeping in thy Father's hall—
Its chambers, which so lately rung
To thy light step or lively call,
Seem dark as if with sable hung;
Too well their gloom declares that thou
Hast left thy Father's dwelling now!
Its chambers, which so lately rung
To thy light step or lively call,
Seem dark as if with sable hung;
Too well their gloom declares that thou
Hast left thy Father's dwelling now!
74
When last I looked upon thy face,
Thy fair cheek wore a palid hue;
Yet kept thine eye its wonted grace,
And wildly free thy dark hair flew:
I little thought whose breath had passed
Across thy features like a blast—
Thy fair cheek wore a palid hue;
Yet kept thine eye its wonted grace,
And wildly free thy dark hair flew:
I little thought whose breath had passed
Across thy features like a blast—
I little thought that Death had blown,
E'en then, his sickening breath on thee;
I little thought thy glance and tone
Then spoke and beamed their last for me:
My parting word, unthinking, fell;
I dreamed not of a last farewell!
E'en then, his sickening breath on thee;
I little thought thy glance and tone
Then spoke and beamed their last for me:
My parting word, unthinking, fell;
I dreamed not of a last farewell!
But the same Moon whose crescent beam
Beheld thee in accustomed bloom,
Was seen to pour her waning stream
Of dewy radiance round thy tomb:
O loveliest and loved One, thou
Hast found a darksome dwelling now!
Beheld thee in accustomed bloom,
Was seen to pour her waning stream
Of dewy radiance round thy tomb:
O loveliest and loved One, thou
Hast found a darksome dwelling now!
75
I went to where thy grave was scooped—
There children, seeming half to grieve,
Stood round in gazing clusters grouped;
I saw it, and could scarce believe
So dark and damp a cell could be
For aught so light and gay as thee!
There children, seeming half to grieve,
Stood round in gazing clusters grouped;
I saw it, and could scarce believe
So dark and damp a cell could be
For aught so light and gay as thee!
Yet so it was. I saw thee lowered,
And heard upon thy coffin-lid,
With solemn sound the dull earth showered,
Till dust by dust was heaped and hid;
And looks I marked whose anguish said
Life's highest charm with thee was dead.
And heard upon thy coffin-lid,
With solemn sound the dull earth showered,
Till dust by dust was heaped and hid;
And looks I marked whose anguish said
Life's highest charm with thee was dead.
Then fled our frailest and our last
Illusion—that in which we think,
While ours the dust whence life has passed,
There still is one unbroken link:
That the grave broke—and all of thee
Hath faded to a memory!
Illusion—that in which we think,
While ours the dust whence life has passed,
There still is one unbroken link:
That the grave broke—and all of thee
Hath faded to a memory!
76
There was a time when in thy mirth
Thou archly bad'st me write on thee;
And now, lost flower of fairest birth,
I write—what thou shalt never see.
Alas! how sad a song hath paid
Request scarce thought, and lightly made!
Thou archly bad'st me write on thee;
And now, lost flower of fairest birth,
I write—what thou shalt never see.
Alas! how sad a song hath paid
Request scarce thought, and lightly made!
But shall my song have mournful close?
Oh! not for thee our tears should fall;
Thou art where Spring eternal blows—
Thou art where God is all in all!
Thine claim our grief, but, loved One, thou
Hast found a glorious dwelling now!
Oh! not for thee our tears should fall;
Thou art where Spring eternal blows—
Thou art where God is all in all!
Thine claim our grief, but, loved One, thou
Hast found a glorious dwelling now!
| Craven Blossoms | |