Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 13 1825.pdf/7



was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young! Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful Mother sung. —"Ianthis! dost thou sleep?—thou sleep'st—but this is not the rest, The breathing and the rosy calm I have pillow'd on my breast! I lull'd thee not to this repose, Ianthis! my sweet son! As in thy laughing childhood's days by twilight I have done. How is it that I bear to stand and look upon thee now? And that I die not, seeing Death on thy pale glorious brow?

"I look upon thee, thou that wert of all most fair and brave! I see thee wearing still too much of beauty for the grave! Though mournfully thy smile is fix'd, and heavily thine eye Hath shut above the falcon-glance that in it loved to lie, And fast is bound the springing step, that seem'd on breezes borne, When to thy couch I came and said—'Wake, hunter, wake! 'tis morn!' —Yet lovely art thou still, my flower! untouch'd by slow decay; And I, the wither'd stem, remain!—I would that Grief might slay!

"Oh! ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would be! I knew too well that length of days was not a gift for thee! I saw it in thy kindling cheek and in thy bearing high— —A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me thou must die!