Page:Felicia Hemans in The Monthly Magazine Volume 5 1828.pdf/3



"Oh! fondly, fervently, those two had loved; Had mingled minds in Love's own perfect trust; Had watched bright sunsets, dreamt of blissful years: And thus they met!"

, with your torches, haste! make firelight round!" —They speed, they press what hath the miners found? Relic or treasure, giant sword of old? Gems bedded deep, rich veins of burning gold? —Not so—the dead, the dead! An awe-struck band, In silence gathering round the silent stand, Chained by one feeling, hushing e'en their breath, Before the thing that, in the night of death, Fearful, yet beautiful, amidst them lay— A sleeper, dreaming not!—a youth, with hair Making a sunny gleam (how sadly fair!) O'er his cold brow: no shadow of decay Had touched those pale bright features—yet he wore A mien of other days, a garb of yore. Who could unfold that mystery? From the throng A woman wildly broke; her eye was dim, As if through many tears, through vigils long, Through weary strainings:—all had been for him! Those two had loved! And there he lay, the dead, In his youth's flower and she, the living, stood With her grey hair, whence hue and gloss had fled— And wasted form, and cheek, whose flushing blood Had long since ebb'd:—a meeting sad and strange! —Oh! are not meetings in this world of change Sadder than partings oft? She stood there, still, And mute, and gazing, all her soul to fill With the loved face once more—the young, fair face, 'Midst that rude cavern touched with sculpture's grace, By torchlight and by death:—until, at last, From her deep heart the spirit of the past Gushed in low broken tones:—"And there thou art! And thus we meet, that loved, and did but part As for a few brief hours!—My friend, my friend! First-love, and only one! Is this the end Of hope deferred, youth blighted? Yet thy brow Still wears its own proud beauty, and thy cheek Smiles—how unchanged!—while I, the worn, and weak, And faded—oh! thou wouldst but scorn me now, If thou couldst look on me!—a withered leaf, Seared—though for thy sake—by the blast of grief! —Better to see thee thus!—for thou didst go, Bearing my image on thy heart, I know, Unto the dead. My Ulric! through the night How have I called thee!—with the morning light How have I watched for thee!—wept, wandered, prayed, Met the fierce mountain-tempest, undismayed, In search of thee!—bound my worn life to one, One torturing hope!—Now let me die!—'tis gone! Take thy betrothed!" And on his breast she fell. —Oh! since their youth's last passionate farewell, How changed in all but love!—the true, the strong— Joining in death whom life had parted long! —They had one grave—one lonely bridal bed— No friend, no kinsman there a tear to shed! His name had ceased—her heart outlived each tie, Once more to look on that dead face—and die!F. H.