206

A LAMENT.

A LAMENT.

POW desolate and how lone

My home appears, now thou art far away!

Oh, when wilt thou come back again, mine own?
What tempts thee thus to stray?

Come back! come back!-hath the world aught so dear

As the true loving heart that waits thee here?

Hast thou not vowed to be

Mine, and mine only, through each changing scene?

As yet my heart hath found no change in thee :-
Be still what thou hast been,

Fond, kind, and faithful-my sole friend and guide,
And dearer far than all the world beside.

Oh, when wilt thou return?

Vainly I look for thee at close of day,

And often does my aching bosom yearn

For thee, now far away.

Hath absence changed thee? No, it cannot be !-

There is no truth if thou art false to me.

Yet thou dost tarry long,

Whilst here in cheerless solitude I mourn,

And dark forebodings o'er my fond soul throng;
Oh, when wilt thou return?

Sickness may reach thee, pain, or grief, or care

Fall on thy breast, and I not near to share.

STANZAS.

Come back to thy own home!

I know thou canst not change, but I am sad
And weary with long watching,—do thou come
And make my spirit glad.

I know no joy whilst thou art from my sight;

My yearning thoughts are with thee day and night!

ANON.

207

STANZAS.

T was not for the diamond ring upon your lily hand;

It was not for your noble name; it was not for your land ;-
I saw no gem, no lordly name, no broad domain with thee.
The day you stole my trusting heart and peace of mind from me.

You came, I knew not whence you came; we met,-'twas in the dance;
There was honey in each word of yours, and glamour in each glance.
Though many were around me then, I nothing saw but him,
Before whose brow of starry sheen fresh fallen snow were dim.

You're gone! it was a weary night we parted at the barn;
You swore by all the stars above that you would soon return ;
That you would soon return, light love, and I your bride should be;
But backward will the burnie roll ere you come back to me.

They say that soon a smiling dame, of lineage like to thine,
Will take thee by the fickle hand thy falsehood placed in mine;
The music and the rose-red wine to greet her will appear-
For wedding song a sigh I'll have, for bridal pledge a tear.

208

THE FUNERAL OF THE FORSAKEN.

Oh, would that thou hadst passed me by, in coldness or in pride,
Nor wrought this deadly wrong to her who on thy truth relied ;-
The hunter's to the greenwood gone, his spear is in its rest;
But he'll not wound the trusting dove that shelters in his breast.

KENNEDY.

THE FUNERAL OF THE FORSAKEN.

HE gorgeous sun is fading fast,

The languid flowers are closed in sleep;
For all another day hath passed,

Smile they or weep.

Blent with the murmurs of the gale

Come notes the silence to dispel,

Sounds sad as human sorrow's wail,-

The funeral bell.

The church is gained, the grave appears ;

The unconscious dead, his trials o'er,

Hath reached that home where grief or fears

Touch him no more.

The priest comes forth-looks round-for where

Are they who sorrow o'er the bier?

No choking sob of wild despair

Falls on the ear.

Where is the fond and changeless friend,--

The tender parent, loving wife;

Ties which to death such anguish lend,

Such charm to life?

H, mine be the shade which no eye might discover,
Where in silence and sorrow alone I may dwell;
Give scorn to the maid who is false to her lover-
A tear unto her who has loved but too well:
Alas for the heart, when, affection forsaking,
It turns from the vows it hath cherished for years;