I kneel beside the cold grey stone
That tells me, dearest, thou art gone
To realms more bless'd - and left me still
To struggle with this world of ill.
But oft from out the silent mound
Delusive fancy breathes a sound;
My pent-up heart within me burns,
And all the blessed past returns.
Thy form is present to mine eye,
Thy voice is whispering in mine ear,
The love that spake in days gone by;
And rapture checks the starting tear.
Thy deathless spirit wakes to fill
The faithful heart that loves thee still.
For thee the day's bright glow is o'er,
And summer's roses bloom no more;
The song of birds in twilight bowers,
The breath of spring's delicious flowers,
The towering wood and mountain height,
The glorious pageantry of night;
Which fill'd thy soul with musings high,
And lighted up thy speaking eye;
The mournful music of the wave
Can never reach thy lonely grave.
Thou dost but sleep! It cannot be
That ardent heart is silent now -
That death's dark door has closed on thee;
And made thee cold to all below.
Ah, no! the flame death could not chill,
Thy tender love survives thee still.
That love within my breast enshrined,
In death alone shall be resign'd;
And when the eve, thou lovest so well,
Pours on my soul its soothing spell,
I leave the city's busy scene
To seek thy dwelling, cold and green, -
In quiet sadness here to shed
Love's sacred tribute o'er the dead -
To dream again of days gone by,
And hold sweet converse here with thee;
In the soft air to feel thy sigh,
Whilst winds and waters answer me.
Yes!
