 | Fragments and Fancies |  |
65
THE GRAVE OF THE GIFTED.
A Grave for the Gifted!—Where—where shall it be?
By the echoing shores of the hollow-voiced Sea?
Oh, no! let those ashes at last sink in rest—
Now the strong Passion-whirlwinds have died in her breast!
By the echoing shores of the hollow-voiced Sea?
Oh, no! let those ashes at last sink in rest—
Now the strong Passion-whirlwinds have died in her breast!
For the Gifted and Beautiful lost One—a grave,
But not in the precincts of Ocean's hoar wave;
Too much of life's tempests and tumults she knew,
Let her sleep 'neath the Skies' gracious weepings of dew!
But not in the precincts of Ocean's hoar wave;
Too much of life's tempests and tumults she knew,
Let her sleep 'neath the Skies' gracious weepings of dew!
Like a bird from the storms—all awearied, o'erworn—
To a nest of repose be the Lovely One borne,
Where no loud savage storm shakes the moon-lighted Air,
But the breeze, a sweet message from Heaven's shore shall bear!
To a nest of repose be the Lovely One borne,
Where no loud savage storm shakes the moon-lighted Air,
But the breeze, a sweet message from Heaven's shore shall bear!
66
A Grave for the Gifted!—Where—where shall it be?
Where the bright summer-treasures yield wealth to the bee—
Where the faint-thrilling voice of some fountain is heard,
And the rich air is rent by Night's passionate bird.
Where the bright summer-treasures yield wealth to the bee—
Where the faint-thrilling voice of some fountain is heard,
And the rich air is rent by Night's passionate bird.
Where old chestnut-trees shed round a twilight of gloom,
Which doth hallow and mellow the wild flower's meek bloom,
Where the fragrant Spring-rains dance in joy to Earth's breast—
Sweet Earth!—with a blossomy richness oppressed—
Which doth hallow and mellow the wild flower's meek bloom,
Where the fragrant Spring-rains dance in joy to Earth's breast—
Sweet Earth!—with a blossomy richness oppressed—
Where the whitest of roses undazzlingly blow
More pure and more soft than the enwreathed Mountain-Snow—
Where the Starlight still tremblingly signal the Hours,
And throw sudden gleams o'er the wood-bosomed bowers—
More pure and more soft than the enwreathed Mountain-Snow—
Where the Starlight still tremblingly signal the Hours,
And throw sudden gleams o'er the wood-bosomed bowers—
Where the sunflower shall burn, and the lily shall bend!
And the Acacia its leaves with the willow's shall blend—
Oh! the old Kingly Laurel's illustrious gloom
Overshadowed her life—be that far from her tomb!
And the Acacia its leaves with the willow's shall blend—
Oh! the old Kingly Laurel's illustrious gloom
Overshadowed her life—be that far from her tomb!
67
A Grave for the Gifted!—A Grave for the Young!
Since sealed the pure lips that so thrillingly sung;
But far from the Laurel—the Tempest—the Billow—
Where stillness is deepest, there spread ye her pillow!
Since sealed the pure lips that so thrillingly sung;
But far from the Laurel—the Tempest—the Billow—
Where stillness is deepest, there spread ye her pillow!
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