The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott Edited by his Son Edwin Elliott ... A New and Revised Edition: Two Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott |  |
HE WROTE.
He did not come, but letters came,
And money came in one;
But he would quickly come, they said—
“When I,” she sigh'd, “am gone!”
Thenceforth she almost welcomed death,
With feelings high and brave;
Because she knew that her true love
Would weep upon her grave.
And money came in one;
But he would quickly come, they said—
“When I,” she sigh'd, “am gone!”
Thenceforth she almost welcomed death,
With feelings high and brave;
Because she knew that her true love
Would weep upon her grave.
128
“No parish hirelings,” oft she said,
“My wasted corpse shall bear;
The honest labour of my hands
Hath purchased earth and prayer:
Nor childless will my mother be;”
The dying sufferer smiled;
“Thou wilt not want, for William's heart
Is wedded to thy child!”
“My wasted corpse shall bear;
The honest labour of my hands
Hath purchased earth and prayer:
Nor childless will my mother be;”
The dying sufferer smiled;
“Thou wilt not want, for William's heart
Is wedded to thy child!”
But Death seem'd loath to strike a form
So beautiful and young;
And o'er her long, with lifted dart,
The pensive tyrant hung;
And life in her seem'd like a sleep,
As she drew nearer home;
But when she waked, more eagerly
She ask'd, “Is William come?”
So beautiful and young;
And o'er her long, with lifted dart,
The pensive tyrant hung;
And life in her seem'd like a sleep,
As she drew nearer home;
But when she waked, more eagerly
She ask'd, “Is William come?”
“Is William come?” she wildly ask'd;
The answer still was, “No!”—
She's dead!—but through her closing lids
The tears were trickling slow;
And like the fragrance of a rose,
Whose snowy life is o'er,
Pale beauty linger'd on the lips
Which he will kiss no more.
The answer still was, “No!”—
She's dead!—but through her closing lids
The tears were trickling slow;
And like the fragrance of a rose,
Whose snowy life is o'er,
Pale beauty linger'd on the lips
Which he will kiss no more.
| The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | |