To her it seemed an age had rolled away; She was so restless, from the stony seat, Though scarcely touching, she would spring again, And tore it with her nails till they were sore. And in her frantic fits she wildly raved, And named her lover and her friends at home; She said they cruel were they misbehaved They knew she loved them, but they still were dumb, And then all-piteously she craved That they would only for an instant come ; She would do so, if they were in her stead, And bring them water and a little bread. This could no longer last: 'twas day the tenth, And so exhausted was her feeble strength, That now 't was useless 'gainst her fate to strive: She sat, all motionless, resigned, and meek; For reason had returned, with flickering ray; The time was precious, and she leaned to pray; She backward felland, with a gasp, she died. III. Time flew apace; his wings were on a strain, And Death was at his dirty work again, For 't was decreed her brother too must die. The bolts were loosened, and within he gazed, Until he moved descending to the cell: "Great God of heaven!"-his quivering hands he raised : The iron mattock from his fingers fell; There lay, or leaned, the poor, uncoffined maid, One hand was grasping the projecting wall, As though she'd struggled to prevent the fall, Her face turned upward, and 't was marked by all The vital pangs of her last agony; Her slightly-shrivelled, death-discolored feet, Her hair had lengthened—which her friends could see— And, loosely drooping, o'er her shoulder spread; For still 't was growing most luxuriantly, And drew nutrition from that lifeless head: Unearthly were those locks-so rank and free - Their slimy surface filled the soul with dread ;'Tis passing strange, that thus the hair should thrive, And better live, with nothing else alive! Old sextons we have known to rob the grave: How can you place them o'er your polished brow, Because that he is round, and fat, and sleek: The maiden's mother, rocking to and fro, The grave was welcome, and she wooed the blow: The widow's voice was there the only sound; The winds were sportive, and a playful gust Gave rustling motion to the maiden's dress; Whilst round her mouldy neck and faded bust The ringlets rolled; for every loosened tress Was lightly lifted—and so life-like!—just As when on earth she moved, our eyes to bless: A sickening shudder ran through all the crowd,They deemed the corse was rising in its shroud! An aged woman told to me the tale; All anxiously I pressed the same to hear, And whilst she did the mournful theme bewail, Her eyes were filling with a scalding tear: I felt my bloodless cheek was turning pale; And through my veins there crept a chilling fear: With her own sight she saw the sightless maid; 'Twas in her girlish days, when she was proud; For she was lovely once. - the sleeper there- All damp and dewy in that charnel-place ;- Which e'en the shining sun could not erase; Though life was round her, and the hum of life, She moved not-stirred not to renew the strife; The strife of being, which we all endure; The strong, who face it, and the weak, who fly ; Nor wealth's exempt, nor poverty secure — If all were Enochs, then we all might sup |