A Dirge

Calm on the bosom of thy God,Young spirit! rest thee now!Even while with us thy footstep trod,His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!Soul, to its place on high!--They that have seen thy look in death,No more may fear to die.

Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers,Whence thy meek smile is gone;But oh!--a brighter home than ours,In heaven, is now thine own.

“Oh! fondly, fervently, those two had loved,Had mingled minds in Love’s own perfect trust;Had watch’d bright sunsets, dreamt of blissful years,----And thus they met!”

“Haste, with your torches, haste! make firelight round!”--They speed, they press: what hath the miner found?Relic or treasure--giant sword of old?Gems bedded deep--rich veins of burning gold?--Not so--the dead, the dead! An awe-struck bandIn silence gathering round the silent stand,Chain’d by one feeling, hushing e’en their breath,Before the thing that, in the might of death,Fearful, yet beautiful, amidst them lay--A sleeper, dreaming not!--a youth with hairMaking a sunny gleam (how sadly fair!)O’er his cold brow: no shadow of decayHad touch’d those pale, bright features--yet he woreA mien of other days, a garb of yore.Who could unfold that mystery? From the throngA woman wildly broke; her eye was dim,As if through many tears, through vigils long,Through weary strainings:--all had been for him!Those two had loved! And there he lay, the dead,In his youth’s flower--and she, the living, stoodWith her gray hair, whence hue and gloss had fled--And wasted form, and cheek, whose flushing bloodHad long since ebb’d--a meeting sad and strange!--Oh! are not meetings in this world of changeSadder than partings oft! She stood there, still,And mute, and gazing--all her soul to fillWith the loved face once more--the young, fair face,Midst that rude cavern, touch’d with sculpture’s grace,By torchlight and by death: until at lastFrom her deep heart the spirit of the pastGush’d in low broken tones:--“And there thou art!And thus we meet, that loved, and did but partAs for a few brief hours! My friend, my friend!First love, and only one! Is this the endOf hope deferr’d, youth blighted! Yet thy browStill wears its own proud beauty, and thy cheekSmiles--how unchanged!--while I, the worn, and weak,And faded--oh! thou wouldst but scorn me now,If thou couldst look on me!--a wither’d leaf,Sear’d--though for thy sake--by the blast of grief!Better to see thee thus! For thou didst goBearing my image on thy heart, I know,Unto the dead. My Ulric! through the nightHow have I call’d thee! With the morning lightHow have I watch’d for thee!--wept, wander’d, pray’d,Met the fierce mountain-tempest, undismay’d,In search of thee!--bound my worn life to one--One torturing hope! Now let me die! ’Tis gone.Take thy betrothed!” And on his breast she fell,Oh! since their youth’s last passionate farewell,How changed in all but love!--the true, the strong,Joining in death whom life had parted long!They had one grave--one lonely bridal-bed,No friend, no kinsman there a tear to shed!His name had ceased--her heart outlived each tie,Once more to look on that dead face, and die!