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Art and Fashion

With other sketches, songs and poems. By Charles Swain
  
  

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THE DEAD SWAN.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


230

THE DEAD SWAN.

(THE STREAM LAMENTETH FOR HER LOST COMPANION.)

Darkly now and lonely
Night on me descends;
Once and but once only
We've been parted friends!
What doth Life inherit
That can Hope impart?
Oh, sweet Bird, or Spirit,
Tell me where thou art!
With a troubled feeling
Came the Night profound;
With a sigh revealing
Sorrow all around!
Sounds too sad to lose them
Through the forest crept,
Whilst upon my bosom
Thou in beauty slept!

231

Ill could ne'er betide me,
Through the wildest night;
There thou lay beside me
Like a beam of light!
Till the dark hour ending,
To thy happy stream,
Forest deer descending
Woke thee from thy dream!
Then thy beauty darted
All its rays of light,
Like a sylph thou started
In thy sparkling flight!
Whilst the deer—though frighted
From the water's brink—
Paused, as half delighted,
And forgot to drink.
O ye Stars, that often
In my heart have slept,
Fate's decree now soften:
Long and lone I've wept!
Where is she whose brightness
Lent the rash delight;
Know ye, in your lightness?
Answer, Stars of night!

232

Not a voice repeateth
Tidings where thou art,
Save the wave that beateth
O'er my troubled heart;
Save the winds that slowly
'Neath the sedges rise,
Every feeling holy
Into silence dies!
Not the stars can bring her
Back to life and day;
Why should I then linger?
Waste, poor Stream, away!
What doth Life inherit
That can Hope impart?
Oh, sweet Bird, or Spirit,
Tell me where thou art!