Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/169

Rh Down, down, down; thy look is strangely calm!

Thou goest to thy last rest, as a child

Upon its mother's bosom sinks to sleep.

Enter.

Alver. Ha! hideous demon, where is Azlea?

Her. By Heaven, this is Alvernon! now I know

Why Hermon sued in vain. Look! gaze full long

Upon her sea-deep cradle! She, sweet child,

Is far beyond the reach of your weak arm.

Alver. Answer me, fiend! hast thou slain Azlea?

Monster! now thou shalt die.

Her. Not by thy arm;

I go to meet thy Azlea, while thou

Must tarry here alone: dost envy me?

Alver. Was there a God in heaven when this was done?

III.—A room in 's house. stretched on a bier. kneeling beside it, his face hidden in the pall. chanting a low, wild dirge on his harp.

DIRGE.

Once, my mournful harp, and never

Shall thy strings to sadness shiver;

Never more with anguish quiver

Breaking with thy moan.

Once more sound for me in sorrow,

One low, dirge-like strain; to-morrow

Hushed will be thy tone.