Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/177

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It ceased, and from the casement near The curtain's fold she drew, And the young moon mid bowering leaves Look'd lone and peaceful through; Where was the sigh of tender praise? Love's ne'er forgotten word? Sleeps he? How pale! Alas, no breath Her sweeping tresses stirr'd.

A cry broke forth. He heeds it not! Young wife, thy lot was blest, To charm the pang of mortal pain, And sing him to his rest; Entranced the listening spirit soar'd   Heavenward on balmy air, And pass'd from love and music here, To love and music there.