When lying on my clayey bed,
Who there by pure affection led
Will come and weep;
By the pale moon implant the rose
Upon my breast,
And bid it cheer my dark repose,
My lowly rest?
Could I but know when I am sleeping
Low in the ground,
One faithful heart would there be keeping
Watch all night round,
As if some gem lay shrined beneath
That sod's cold gloom,
"Twould mitigate the pangs of death,
And light the tomb.
Yes, in that hour if I could feel,
From halls of glee
And Beauty's presence one would steal
And come and sit and weep by me
In night's deep noon
Oh! I would ask of memory
No other boon.
But ah a lonelier fate is mine,
From all I love in youth's sweet time
I soon must go;
Drawn round me my pale robes of white,
In a dark spot
To sleep through death's long, dreamless night,
Lone and forgot.
Ir was a summer eve in Italy,
Starlight, and the full moon, and soft blue sky,
So tranquil, and so pensively serene,
That one might smile or weep 'mid such a scene.
Calmly the Arno lay-the lighted tent
Along its banks gleamed out where myrtles blent
With citrons in a thick luxuriant screen-
Gay groups were seated on the moonlit green,
And music's deep, soul-stirring sounds, and song
Arose, and laughter ringing from the throng,
Where Florence had sent forth her bright array
"Of youthful, gallant, beautiful, and gay."
And there moved one amidst that festival,
Fairer and gentler-lovelier far than all,
With queenly step, a soft and blushing cheek,
And beaming eyes the buoyant heart that speak.
Midst those gay scenes she walked, and danced, and smiled,
Joined in the song as blithesome as a child;
Yet in her joyance was an under tone
Of sadness, and of grief-the stifled moan-
Untimely answers, oft a vacant stare,
Telling full well that thought was absent there.
They heeded not the tear that filled her eye,
The tremor of her lip, nor frequent sigh ;
Too much each one was lost in revelry,
The timid tears of secret love to see.
At last, with beating heart and watchful glance,
She left the brilliant crowd and dizzy dance,
And hastened down a dim-lit avenue,
Where citrons tall and tangled myrtle grew,
Until she reached a spot where in the wood,
Muffled in cloak, a lofty figure stood,
Who glided forward, took her trembling hand,
And led her gently to the breezy strand—
It was the gay and gallant ANTHONY:
Upon his arm she leant-how trustingly!
Listing those vows of constancy and love
That gentle woman's bane so often prove :
With sweetest flatteries he strove to cheer
The timid maid.-His chariot was near-
Around her slender waist he twined his arm,
And to it bore her light and lithesome form.
And she was happy in her distant home,
Loved with that ardent flame that must consume
Itself:-Alas! 'twas but a little while-
A gush of sunlight-April's passing smile
Upon the flowers, to give them life and light,
Then leave them to the frost's untimely blight.
Time passed-where was he now-proud ANTHONY ?
Her young heart's dream-her soul's idolatry !—
For whom she had forsaken kindred-fame ;-
That priceless gem-a pure, unsullied name ?-
Alas! he worshipped one beyond the sea,
Regardless of his weeping EMILIE.
One eve she donned a cloak and silken veil,
And hastened forth along the fading dale,
Nor cared how far, or whitherward she went,
So doon the inward woe her bosom rent.
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