Yet still adown the gloomy stream Her husband-he had left their home, And it was home no more. She found him-but she found in vain- For her to be his bride. She grasped his hands, her own were cold,— And silent turned away, As she had not a tear to shed, And not a word to say. And pale as death she reached her boat, And guided it along; With broken voice she strove to raise A melancholy song. None watched the lonely Indian girl, She passed unmarked of all, Until they saw her slight canoe Upright, within that slender boat They saw the pale girl stand, The air is filled with shriek and shout They call, but call in vain; The boat amid the waters dashed 'Twas never seen again! THE SNOWDROP. THOU beautiful new comer, Is dark with winter green; At sweet spring-time is seen. The lime-tree's tender yellow, Now solemn yews are bending 'Mid gloomy fires around; And in long dark wreaths descending The ivy sweeps the ground. No sweet companion pledges Thy health as dewdrops pass; No rose is on the hedges, No violet in the grass. Thou art watching, and thou only, Thus lovely, and thus lonely, Though the singing rill be frozen, While the wind forsakes the west; Though the singing birds have chosen Some lone and silent rest; Like thee, one sweet thought lingers "Tis the love for long years cherished, Yet lingering, lorn, and lone; Though its lovelier lights have perished, And its earlier hopes are flown. And the cold and changed surround it, KALENDRIA; A PORT IN CILICIA. Do you see yon vessel riding, For the morrow's onward way? With a spell of peace and sleep. Seems she not as if enchanted By that sweet ship's shadowy grace? Not a vestige will remain, Though those sweet eyes strain in sorrow, They will search the sea in vain. "Twas for this I bade thee meet me, Where my father's bones are lying, Mine will be a wilder ending, Mine will be a wilder grave, Where the shriek and shout are blending, Or the tempest sweeps the wave. Mine may be a fate more lonely, Must I from those eyes remove Hath thy heart no soft pulse sleeping No! I see thy brow is frozen, And thy look is cold and strange; Scarce I wish that pure faith broken, No: be still the guileless creature When all gentler thoughts have perished, Farewell!-With those words I sever Every tie of youth and home; 39 |