The Dream and Other Poems By the Hon'ble Mrs Norton |
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THE DYING HOUR. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
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| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
 | The Dream and Other Poems |  |
137
THE DYING HOUR.
“Te teneam moriens, deficiente manu.”
I
Oh! watch me; watch me stillThro' the long night's dreary hours,
Uphold by thy firm will
Worn Nature's sinking powers!
II
While yet thy face is there(The loose locks round it flying),
So young, and fresh, and fair,
I feel not I am dying!
III
Stoop down, and kiss my brow!The shadows round me closing
Warn me that dark and low
I soon shall be reposing.
138
IV
But while those pitying eyesAre bending thus above me,
In vain the death-dews rise,—
Thou dost regret and love me!
V
Then watch me thro' the night,Thro' my broken, fitful slumber;
By the pale lamp's sickly light
My dying moments number!
VI
Thy fond and patient smileShall soothe my painful waking;
Thy voice shall cheer me while
The slow grey dawn is breaking!
VII
The battle-slain, whose thirstNo kindly hand assuages,
Whose low faint farewells burst
Unheard, while combat rages,—
139
VIII
The exiled, near whose bedSome vision'd form seems weeping,
Whose steps shall never tread
The land where he lies sleeping,—
IX
The drown'd, whose parting breathIs caught by wild winds only,—
Theirs is the bitter death,
Beloved, for they die lonely!
X
But thus, tho' rack'd, to lie,Thou near, tho' full of sadness,
Leaves still, e'en while I die,
A lingering gleam of gladness!
XI
I feel not half my painWhen to mine thy fond lip presses,—
I warm to life again
Beneath thy soft caresses!
140
XII
Once more, oh! yet once moreFling, fling thy white arms round me,
As oft in days of yore
Their gentle clasp hath bound me;
XIII
And hold me to that breastWhich heaves so full with sorrow—
Who knows where I may rest
In the dark and blank to-morrow?
XIV
Ah! weep not—it shall beAn after-thought to cheer thee,
That while mine eyes could see,
And while mine ears could hear thee—
XV
Thy voice and smile were stillThe spells on which I doated,
And thou, through good and ill,
To me and mine devoted!
141
XVI
And calmly by my tomb,When the low bright day declineth,
And athwart the cypress gloom
The mellow sunset shineth,—
XVII
Thou'lt sit and think of Him,Who, of Heaven's immortal splendour,
Had a dream on earth, though dim,
In thy love so pure and tender,—
XVIII
Who scarcely feels thy touch,—Whom thy voice can rouse no longer,—
But whose love on earth was such,
That only death was stronger.
XIX
Yes, sit, but not in tears!Thine eyes in faith uplifting,
From thy lot of changeful years,
To the Heaven where naught is shifting.
142
XX
From this world, where all who loveAre doomed alike to sever,
To the glorious realms above,
Where they dwell in peace for ever!
XXI
And then such hope shall beamFrom the grave where I lie sleeping,
This bitter hour shall seem
Too vague and far for weeping—
XXII
And grief—ah! hold me now!My fluttering pulse is failing,—
The death-dews chill my brow,—
The morning light is paling!
XXIII
I seek thy gaze in vain,—Earth reels and fades before me;
I die!—but feel no pain,—
Thy sweet face shining o'er me!
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