Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 20 1827.pdf/6

 Amidst those alien shades; her eye was bright Ev'n yet with something of a starry light, But her form wasted, and her fair young cheek Wore oft and patiently a fatal streak, A rose whose root was Death. The parting sigh Of Autumn through the forests had gone by, And the rich maple o'er her wanderings lone Its crimson leaves in many a shower had strown, Flushing the air; and Winter's blast had been Amidst the pines; and now a softer green Fringed their dark boughs, for Spring again had come, The sunny Spring!—but Edith to her home Was journeying fast. Alas! we think it sad To part with life, when all the earth looks glad In her young lovely things, when voices break Into sweet sounds, and leaves and blossoms wake! Is it not brighter then, in that far clime Where graves are not, nor blights of changeful Time, If here such glory dwell with passing blooms, Such golden sunshine rest around the tombs?

So thought the dying one!—'twas early day, And sounds and odours with the breezes' play, Whispering of spring-time through the cabin-door, Unto her couch Life s farewell sweetness bore; Calmly she smiled, and, raising her faint head, "My Father!" to the grey-hair'd chief she said, "Know'st thou that I depart?"—"I know, I know" He answer'd mournfully, "that thou must go To thy beloved, my Daughter!"—"Sorrow not For me, kind Mother!" with meek smiles once more She murmur'd, but with pain; "one happy lot Awaits us, friends! upon the better shore, For we have pray'd together in one trust, And lifted our frail spirits from the dust, To God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own, Under the cedar-shade: where he is gone, Thither I go. There will my sisters be, And the dead parents, lisping at whose knee My childhood's prayer was learn'd; the Saviour's prayer, Which now ye know—and I shall meet you there. Father, and gentle Mother!—ye have bound The bruised reed, and mercy shall be found By mercy's children." From the matron's eye Dropp'd tears, her sole and passionate reply; But Edith felt them not; for now a sleep, Solemnly beautiful—a stillness deep Fell on her settled face. Then sad and slow, And mantling up his stately head in woe, "Thou 'rt passing hence,' he sang, that warrior old, In sounds like those by plaintive waters roll'd:—