Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 23 1828.pdf/8

 —Who shall tell us?—on thy tongue Silence, and for ever, hung! Never to thy lip and cheek Rush'd again the crimson streak, Never to thine eye return'd That which there had beam'd and burn’d, With the secret none might know, With thy rapture or thy woe, With thy marriage-robe and wreath, Thou wert fled—young Bride of Death! One, one lightning-moment there, Struck down Triumph to Despair, Beauty, Splendour, Hope and Trust, Into Darkness, Terror—Dust!

There were sounds of weeping o'er thee, Bride! as forth thy kindred bore thee, Shrouded in thy gleaming veil, Deaf to that wild funeral wail. —Yet perchance a chastening thought In some deeper spirit wrought, Whispering, while the stern sad knell On the air's bright stillness fell, —"From the power of chill and change, Souls to sever and estrange; From Love's wane—a death in life, But to watch a mortal strife; From the secret fevers, known To the burden'd heart alone; Thou art fled—afar—away, Where those blights no more have sway! Bright one oh! there well may be Comfort midst our tears for thee!" F. H.