Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/256

256 While fragrant summer's laden gale And fall of murmuring stream, With Nature's holiest hush, conspire To lull the lingering dream.

But wherefore, do those clasping hands Repose so still and meek? Nor breath disturb the tress that lies Thus lightly on her cheek? And wherefore, on those parted lips Doth that rich music sleep Which mov'd Affection's bounding pulse To rapture strong and deep?

Ah!—lift not thus the drapery's fold! I see what death has wrought, Who proudly to his bridal-couch This royal victim brought; Yet spar'd her tender form to rend From this embowering shade, And where she most had joy'd to roam, Her last long mansion made.

And here, the Father of his realm With lonely step doth steal, And take that sorrow to his heart, Which lowliest mourners feel, Here too, his princely offspring bring Affection's woven flowers, And keep the mother's memory fresh, Who charm'd their cradle-hours.

Farewell, thou beautiful and blest,. Whose sceptred hand did bind