  Three days before my Mary's death, We walk'd by Grassmere shore; "Sweet Lake!" she said with faultering breath, "I ne'er shall see thee more!" Then turning round her languid head, She look'd me in the face; And whisper'd, "When thy friend is dead, Remember this lone place." Vainly I struggled at a smile, That did my fears betray; It seem'd that on our darling isle Foreboding darkness lay. My Mary's words were words of truth; None now behold the Maid; Amid the tears of age and youth, She in her grave was laid. Long days, long nights, I ween, were past Ere ceased her funeral knell; But to the spot I went at last Where she had breath'd "farewell!" Methought, I saw the phantom stand Beside the peaceful wave; I felt the pressure of her hand— —Then look'd towards her grave. Fair, fair beneath the evening sky The quiet churchyard lay: The tall pine-grove most solemnly Hung mute above her clay. Dearly she loved their arching spread, Their music wild and sweet, And, as she wished on her death-bed, Was buried at their feet. Around her grave a beauteous fence Of wild flowers shed their breath, Smiling like infant innocence Within the gloom of death. Such flowers from bank of mountain-brook At eve we wont to bring, When every little mossy nook Betray'd returning Spring. Oft had I fixed the simple wreath Upon her virgin breast; But now such flowers as form'd it, breathe Around her bed of rest. Yet all within my silent soul, As the hush'd air was calm; The natural tears that slowly stole, Assuaged my grief like balm. The air that seem'd so thick and dull For months unto my eye; Ah me! how bright and beautiful It floated on the sky! A trance of high and solemn bliss From purest ether came; 'Mid such a heavenly scene as this, Death is an empty name! The memory of the past return'd Like music to my heart,— It seem'd that causelessly I mourn'd, When we were told to part. "God's mercy, to myself I said, To both our souls is given— To me, sojourning on earth's shade, To her—a Saint in Heaven!" |
|
